


Wise

by thestairwell



Category: Glee
Genre: AU, Badboy!Kurt, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Orphan!Anderbros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 14:56:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2625899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestairwell/pseuds/thestairwell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Kurt Hummel is combat boots and Judy Garland vinyls, tattoos and a silk pajamas, multicolored hair and Vogue magazines by his bed. He’s beautiful. One day, he’s going to break Blaine’s heart, and that’s okay.</i>
</p><p>After his parents’ deaths, Blaine moves to Lima for his senior year under his brother’s guardianship. A broken engine leads him to meet Kurt, and starts him on the journey to repairing his relationship to the only family he has left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. welcome to the new age

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to my fantastic betas, [Sammi](http://carpe-doughnuts.tumblr.com) and [Hannah](http://bijoudraconem.tumblr.com) for their fantastic betaing, and especially to Hannah for listening to all my 3am ranting and inspirations. This fic would not be here today if it weren't for you. ♥ Also a huge, huge thank you to my fantastic artist [Tallie](http://loveheartlover.tumblr.com), for the gorgeous art and for being so accommodating - I absolutely adore the result, and I encourage everyone to reblog it [here](http://loveheartlover.tumblr.com/post/102779579551/kurt-hummel-is-combat-boots-and-judy-garland)!
> 
> None of the lyrics belong to me; they, and the title, all come from various songs from Imagine Dragons' album _Night Visions_. (Also, be aware there's a reference to drug use - cocaine - though none of the characters use it on or off screen.)
> 
> Writing this fic has been quite the unexpected journey for me (though there were, sadly(?), no actual dragons involved), and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. :)

 

**PART ONE: WELCOME TO THE NEW AGE**

* * *

_who knows how long i’ve been awake now_   
_the shadows on my wall don’t sleep_   
_they keep calling me_   
_beckoning_

* * *

Hummel Tires & Lube was barely a mile from McKinley. It wasn’t the highest rated auto mechanic in Lima, but it did have a good average, the only negative ratings didn’t have reviews attached, and it turned out that the owner had been the Congressman whose campaign platform last year was based on equality and fairness. Blaine had been having a crappy enough day – between his usual sleepless night, skipping lunch to look up mechanics and _his car not starting this morning_ , he was unexpectedly relieved at discovering an LGBT-friendly garage.

It wasn’t very busy when Blaine pulled up outside.  He wasn’t sure where to go or who to talk to, hovering by the driver’s door. Then Burt Hummel himself came over, wearing a baseball cap and wiping his hands on a rag, and greeted him.

“Hi, I’m Blaine Anderson,” Blaine said, holding out a hand. Mr. Hummel raised an eyebrow but shook Blaine’s hand anyway.

“Burt Hummel.”

Blaine almost said, _I know, and I would’ve voted for you if I had been eighteen or in this Congressional district for the special elections._ But he didn’t want Mr. Hummel’s first impression of him to be ‘a possible stalker’.

“Alright, Blaine, what can I do for you?”

Blaine explained the problem from this morning, opened the engine hood, and tried not to think about how much it would cost to fix. His was pretty sure his insurance didn’t cover engine replacement. He took a seat at Mr. Hummel’s insistence, hand hovering over _GQ Magazine_ (it was a new issue, one Blaine hadn’t been able to read yet) before he decided on an old issue of _Rolling Stone_. It didn’t hold his attention, so he soon abandoned it to watch the mechanics work. In particular, his eyes kept slipping to a younger guy at one of the car lifts and, embarrassed, Blaine hid behind the magazine again.

Mr. Hummel didn’t take long to figure out the problem, and when he approached the waiting table, Blaine stood up.

“I’m afraid your entire flywheel needs replacing,” Mr. Hummel said. “Your starter’s almost completely worn out, and the ring gear ain’t looking too neat, either.”

The bottom dropped out of Blaine’s stomach. “That sounds expensive.”

“Not as bad as it could be. Your insurance won’t cover it but I can work out a payment plan with your parents if you wanna call ‘em.”

Blaine’s mouth went dry and pressure built behind hid eyes, and he struggled to keep his expression straight as he shook his head. “It’s my car so I have to pay for it,” he said; it wasn’t exactly a lie. “I have some money saved up.” Rather, he had a college fund, but he was planning on applying for scholarships anyway.

After a moment of uncomfortable scrutiny, Mr. Hummel just said, “Alright,” and then turned to call into the garage. “Kurt! I need you to pull a car into the back for me.”

They guy who had been working on the car lift looked over. He looked about college age, maybe a couple of years older than Blaine, but there was something ageless about his features. As he put down his tools and headed over to where Blaine and Mr. Hummel were standing, Blaine blushed; the guy’s back was attractive, but the clinging dark gray T-shirt emphasized his already-defined biceps.

When Kurt reached them, he met Blaine’s eyes and nodded in acknowledgement, before his eyes flicker down to Blaine’s clothes. Blaine suddenly got the impression that _GQ_ was Kurt’s idea, and he wished he’d bothered to put on a tie this morning.

“Sure, Dad,” Kurt said. He held out his hand and Blaine, caught by surprise (at Kurt’s voice: it brought to mind an alto melody, with soft harmonies; by ‘dad’: though their names were similar, their physical appearances were not), reached out and took it, and stumbled over his own name. “Kurt Hummel,” Kurt replied, a corner of his mouth turning up into a dimpled half-smile. “And not that I mind holding hands with a cute boy, but I need your keys.”

“Oh, sorry.” Blaine flushes, quickly removed his hand from Kurt’s. “I’ll, uh, get those for you.”

“Kurt, stop teasing the boy,” Mr. Hummel said, amusement clear in his voice, as Blaine crouched down to fetch his car keys from his bag.

Kurt took his keys with a wink and walked across the garage to Blaine’s car looking every inch as though he belongs on a runway, and Blaine followed Mr. Hummel into his office. They checked whether Blaine’s insurance covered engine replacement (it didn’t), but Mr. Hummel offered him a discount as a McKinley student so the total came to just under $450, and they spread the payment over six months. Blaine absently wondered if he should get a job, since Cooper hadn’t worked since the summer and they were running short on money.

“It’s an easy fix,” Mr. Hummel said as they leave the office, “should be done by Monday. If it’s done any sooner, Kurt or one of my guys will call you."

“Thank you for your help, Mr. Hummel.” Blaine smiled, shaking hands with Mr. Hummel again. Then he asked, “Just one last thing: could you point me in the direction of the nearest bus stop?”

“How about a lift?”

Blaine turned round at Kurt’s interruption, stepping back to accept him into the conversation. His eyebrows were raised in surprise, and Kurt smiled that half-smile at him again.

“I’m pretty much at the end of my shift, and I don’t mind taking a detour.”

Mr. Hummel shrugged. “Up to you, Blaine.”

With both men’s eyes on him, Blaine felt unbalanced and uncertain. “I . . . I wouldn’t mind a lift,” he said carefully. Kurt beamed at him – Blaine was unable to stop himself from smiling back – but quickly schooled his features into a confident smirk.

“My ride’s round back,” he said mysteriously, and Mr. Hummel huffed a laugh in response.

“See you at home,” Mr. Hummel said, moving further into the garage. Kurt returned the sentiment, and then beckoned Blaine to follow him, a mischievous light in his eyes; Blaine was helpless to follow. They went through a nondescript door bearing the sign ‘Employees Only’, into the break room. Kurt plucked up two sets of keys and dangled one on each forefinger.

“Now,” he said, “would you rather take the car?” He raised one key. “Or the Hog?”

“You have a motorbike?” Blaine’s mouth was dry, his blood was racing, and his knees were weak. He had always associated motorbikes with bikers and adrenaline junkies, and he’d never seen the appeal. Even now, he was more apprehensive than excited, but there was a glint in Kurt’s eye that told Blaine which he’d prefer.

“And a spare helmet.”

Kurt’s expression was unexpectedly soft, and that was what made Blaine grin and say, in the most level voice possible, “Well, then, you’ve sold me.”

“No, I think I’ll keep you for myself.” Kurt tossed the car keys back onto the counter and, while Blaine was still blushing and stuttering, took some clothes out a locker. He opened another locker labeled ‘Burt’, handed over a large parka for Blaine to wear, and told Blaine to turn around – “Unless you’d rather watch, of course.”

“You can’t just say that, Kurt,” Blaine said, sure his face was bright red and growing only brighter at the sound of Kurt changing behind him. He laughed anyway.

When he was allowed to turn around again, Kurt was in full leather, with a faded blue T-shirt replacing the dark gray. Kurt preened in his stare for a moment before letting out a short laugh and throwing Blaine a helmet. “And here,” he added, passing over his work boots, “your shoes are fashionable but will do nothing to protect your feet. Next time, come more prepared.”

“Thank you.” Blaine smiled gratefully, heart jumping at the thought of a next time. “But what if I don’t like the motorbike?”

“Let’s say that I’ll owe you a coffee.” Kurt winked, gently pulling Blaine’s loaned helmet from his hands and settling it on his head. Blaine shivered when Kurt’s fingers brushed against his chin to do up the strap, and Kurt’s voice was a little muffled when he continued, “But you’ll enjoy it, so you’ll owe me instead.”

Outside, Kurt stowed Blaine’s satchel and shoes in one of the bike’s saddlebags, pulled down the foot pegs, and pointed out the exhaust pipes with a warning not to touch them at all. He asked Blaine for his address as he put on his own helmet, and then swung himself onto the seat. Blaine, despite Kurt’s guidance, wasn’t quite as graceful.

“Put your hands on my hips,” Kurt instructed, manipulating Blaine’s hands into the right grip and then letting go to pull on a pair of leather gloves. “Grip the bike with your thighs, but keep your body loose. When we turn left, look over my left shoulder, when we turn right, look over my right shoulder – we’ll lean to go round a corner. Don’t dismount until I tell you to, and, most importantly—” Kurt paused, giving Blaine a moment to hear his heart pounding in his ears “—have fun!”

Kurt flipped down his visor and Blaine let out a nervous laugh, which was abruptly cut off with a squeak when the engine started; it rumbled between Blaine’s legs, vibrating around his body, and he was struck by the realization that this was an incredibly powerful machine.

Over the noise, delight clear in his voice, Kurt shouted, “Relax.” Eventually, Blain began to; and, though his nerves never quite settled, he was disappointed when they finally reach his house. Sliding off the bike was easier than getting on, and his legs were surprisingly shaky.

“Here,” Kurt said. He kicked down the stand and swiveled round on the bike so both his legs were on one side, and then tugged Blaine in front of him to undo his helmet. Blaine could pretend his breath was still coming out short because of the ride, but then he saw his besotted expression reflected in Kurt’s visor and looked away with a nervous laugh.

“I think I owe you coffee,” he said, his voice still a little shaky from adrenaline.

“It’s a date.” Blaine couldn’t see beneath the visor, but the curious breathless quality in Kurt’s voice set his blood pumping again. “Don’t forget your stuff.”

Feeling warm under Kurt’s hidden eyes, Blaine received his satchel and shoes, took off his loaned items, and carefully folded up the parka.

“Thank you for the ride, Kurt,” Blaine said, reaching out to touch the other boy’s arm. The leather was warm beneath his fingers.

“Believe me, the pleasure’s been all mine, Blaine Warbler.”

Blaine’s eyebrows darted upwards but, before he could say anything, Kurt cheerily said, “Stand back!” kicked up the stand, and drove away.

* * *

_run for cover  
my sense of fear is running thin_

* * *

The apartment block Blaine and Cooper lived in had a small parking complex for residents only across the street, so on any given day Blaine didn’t know whether or not Cooper would be there when Blaine finished school. He didn’t know what Cooper actually _did_ during the day because, still, the only thing he talked about was which famous actors and directors he’d rubbed shoulders with in LA – but Blaine was quite certain that, whatever he was doing, it wasn’t a job.

Today, there was a note stuck to the refrigerator that read, _Blaine, I have an audition in Cincinnati! Great, huh? The process will take a couple of days so don’t wait up! (And no parties, squirt, I’ll know)_

With a roll of his eyes, Blaine balled up the paper and threw it into the trash. His good mood from flirting with Kurt was soured by hurt and anger, despite how ridiculous it was to expect Cooper to have known Blaine would need to borrow his car.

There was twenty dollars beneath the note, which Blaine put in his wallet. This was probably the closest his brother would get to helping out with Blaine’s bills.

Blaine fetched his iPod dock from his bedroom to the kitchen in an attempt to fill up the emptiness – they only had basic cable, which meant no decent music channels – and had a quick dinner for one. After, he carefully filed his copies of the receipts and payment plans for his car, did his homework, and watched a movie on his laptop. He considered getting out his keyboard but, he couldn’t think of anything he wanted to practice, and it was buried behind out-of-season clothing and various miscellanies that didn’t have a place elsewhere. He tried singing along with his music, but in his bedroom and without an audience he just couldn’t seem to find the enthusiasm.

Eventually, he went to bed. As usual, he ran through his schedule for the next day (it was as boring a Wednesday as ever); however, as he tried to figure out what bus he needs to take to school, he got distracted by thoughts of Kurt. He wished he had a picture, to memorize the exact shade of Kurt’s eyes, the angle of his nose, the streaks of pink and green and blue in his hair. It occurred to Blaine that it was completely absurd and a little pathetic to be so hung up on a guy he’d spent less than five cumulative minutes talking to, but then he remembered the motorbike ride, leaning against Kurt’s strong back, his hands around Kurt’s waist, the feeling of the engine rumbling everywhere in his body, and he began to squirm under his covers, flipping onto his side so he wasn’t rubbing against his covers. He tried to think about other things, school and the Grammys and Neil Patrick Harris, but he kept coming back to Kurt and that damned motorcycle. The memories of sensation were potent, and Blaine came quickly. He finally fell asleep soon after.

The next morning, Blaine planned to have a short shower, eat breakfast quickly, and walk to the bus stop round the corner. Even if there wasn’t a direct bus to McKinley, he was sure that the driver would help him figure out the route. Except, while he was having breakfast, he heard a faint, familiar rumble. He looked out the window with his heart racing, and a grin exploded over his face at the sight of Kurt pulling up to the curb outside.

For a few moments, he watched Kurt fuss over the bike and check his hair in one of the wing mirrors, and then he hurried to eat the rest of his breakfast, brush his teeth, and collect his things. He almost ran down the stairs – gave himself a moment to collect himself just out of sight – and his breath still came out shallow when he met eyes with Kurt, who was leaning casually against his bike with a pile of leather on the seat.

“Hey, Anderson.” Kurt grinned at him impishly. “Need a ride?”

* * *

Burt Hummel was many things, but a fool was not one of them. He used to be, that he’s sure of – no teenager is smart, and no twenty-something is wise; but Burt wasn’t even a thirty-something anymore, and life had thrown enough curveballs at him that he knew that he could dispense good enough advice when it was needed but that he’d never know everything.

Burt Hummel may not have always known his son, or how to relate to him – God knows he’d always loved Kurt more than anything else in the world, but he reckoned there weren’t many parents and children so opposite from each other. Even from when Kurt could barely talk, Burt tried, and his son tried to involve him every goddamn thing his toddler brain could think of, but Burt had never been the toy-weddings, afternoon-pretend-tea, and, frankly, gender-nonconformative kinda guy. Hell, he didn’t even know what those words meant before Kurt came along, except in a vague Eddie Izzard sense.

It took Burt – and Burt’s wallet – almost fifteen years to get used to Kurt’s high-fashion wardrobe, and then one day he’d come home to bags of clothes in the living room and a son wearing ripped jeans and a leather jacket on the couch. He’d dyed his hair blue, and Burt had freaked the hell out when he’d seen the lip ring, grounding Kurt even after he’d proven it was just a fake. They’d had a serious conversation, full of misunderstandings and wrought emotions. “They don’t mess with rebels,” Kurt had said, and then, soon after, broken down in tears and come out. Burt didn’t push him after that, but most of the bags had disappeared back upstairs and Burt still saw the occasional fancy top, even if Kurt only wore them around the house.

It had been almost twenty years since Kurt was born and they’d been through more than Burt would’ve thought possible, from Kurt’s mom dying to sexuality crises to fashion 180s. And – as much as he wished he could’ve given Kurt the childhood he deserved – he was glad for all the crap they’d gone through together, because it led to today, with his son flirting with another boy right under Burt’s nose. Or rather, just across the garage from him, Kurt finishing the car he was working on while he exchanged banter with the Blaine kid who’d come in yesterday. And Burt would be concerned – not because he got a bad feeling from Blaine but because it was his duty as a father – but he could see how honestly excited Kurt was. He’d tried to play it cool over dinner last night but even if Burt couldn’t read his son as easily as _The Little Engine That Could_ , his blush had been a dead giveaway.

Plus, Blaine had greeted Burt immediately after he’d shyly made his presence known to Kurt – his son had lit up then, too. So, no, Blaine wasn’t a bad kid, or at least he was good at pretending not to be one.

(There was something off about Blaine’s behavior yesterday, when he’d told Burt he paid for his own car. It stirred up echoes in Burt’s memory, but he couldn’t figure out what. Then again, maybe he was just a really independent kid and Burt was reading too much into it.)

He watched out the pair out of the corner of his eye as he unnecessarily tinkered with an engine, and held back a laugh when Blaine’s face split into a grin. But the smile also eased his worry. Kurt had been up for hours last night making a picnic and Burt was glad to see that Blaine appreciated the sentiment, at least. Whatever face his son put forward, Burt remembered the hours spent watching Audrey Hepburn and Julie Andrews movies.

When Kurt disappeared to clean up, Blaine just stood patiently by the door with the ‘Employees Only’ sign and watched the garage. Burt straightened, ready to do some real work now, and caught eyes with Blaine. Burt smiled; Blaine, after a moment of surprise, smiled back.

* * *

The field Kurt took him to was technically within the city limits, but only, Kurt had said, because this road out of Lima didn’t have a sign. There was nothing special about it, no personal attachment or decorative feature or interesting landmark: it was just a field. (It would become special, as they would later consider it the site of their first date, but the first time Kurt drove them there and Blaine dismounted on legs still unused to motorcycles, it was just a field.)

Blaine removed his helmet, handed it over to Kurt with a breathless laugh. “I don’t think I’ve gone that fast since I went to Cedar Point.”

“Honey, I can go much faster than that. I’m just starting you off easy.” Kurt grinned, running a hand through his hair to stick it back up. Blaine’s eyes followed the motion and lingered for a moment, distracted by the mess of color. It looked purposefully windswept, and Blaine had to suppress to urge to touch a hand to his own head.

“Here, lay this down,” Kurt said, taking a blanket from a bulging saddlebag and holding it out to Blaine, and then moving the Tupperware boxes himself. “You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”

“Only kiwis,” Blaine assured him. His stomach fluttered at Kurt’s relieved expression.

The wind had a slight chill to it, despite the weather being quite warm for October, so after Blaine had removed the heavy shoes he crossed his legs and hid his feet in the middle. Kurt slapped his hands away when he tried to open one of the boxes, so he sat there and listened to the older boy chatter about the ingredients of the various dishes and the general order in which they were supposed to be eaten. There were plain fruits, three types of sandwiches (“Smoked salmon and cucumber, chickpea salad, and plain cheese for if you turned out to be fussy.” “I’ll eat pretty much anything.” “Good.”), carrot sticks, chocolate-dipped fruit, plain fruit, and a small variety of carefully packaged cupcakes.

“Kurt, this is incredible,” Blaine said, surveying the spread with astonishment. “Did you do all this last night?”

“When else would I have done it?” Kurt asked, raising an eyebrow. “And anyway, if I’m going to act as your chauffeur, I should know who you are. What makes you tick, allergies, all that jazz.”

“Then shouldn’t I have made the picnic?” Blaine grinned, and Kurt blushed and looked pleased.

“You can make the next one.”

Blaine laughed, carefully holding up one of the sandwiches. “I don’t think I’ll be able to live up to this. How about I cover dinner?”

“Dinner?”

“Or, uh.” Blaine ducked his head, embarrassed. “Well, it doesn’t have to be dinner. A week’s worth of coffees?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Kurt said. “Let’s talk about something else."

Blaine’s shoulders relaxed and he nodded, smiling. He had expected Kurt to push the subject.

“So.” Kurt rested his chin on a hand, eyes twinkling with mirth. “Is it Blaine Warbler Anderson or Blaine Anderson Warbler?”

“Just Blaine Anderson now,” Blaine laughed. “How did you know I was a Warbler?”

“I was in the New Directions. I know, I don’t exactly look the part,” he added, that half-smile appearing again, “but that’s part of the fun. Don’t you remember me?” He pouted, tilting his head down for the full breathless effect.

“I—” Blaine’s voice cracked, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m not all that surprised, actually. You, you sound like a performer. Your voice is, uh—what’s your range?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure exactly. But I’m yet to encounter a song I can’t sing in its natural key.”

Blaine’s eyebrows rose in disbelief and Kurt grinned.

They talked about music for a while, which soon morphed into talking about their interests in general, about theatre and television and politics, about this and about that until eventually Blaine lost track. He didn’t know when the last time was that he enjoyed a conversation so much, chatter interspersed with flirtatious asides and comfortable silences.

During one such silence, Blaine’s eyes slipped once again to the motorcycle sitting just two feet away, and he asked, “Do you ever get scared? Going fast? Or just, I don’t know, in general?”

“I used to be,” Kurt said. He popped another miniature éclair in his mouth, a contemplative expression on his face, and Blaine helped himself to another grape while he waited for Kurt to continue. “Well,” he eventually did, “yes, I was scared, but more of the people driving cars than the bike itself. I’ve always found riding them sort of . . . thrilling.”

Blaine remembered the rush of feeling the wind pull at his clothing, of leaning to within an arm’s reach from the concrete floor and being held up only by the strength and control of his legs, of the disconnect to anything real except the powerful presence of the motorcycle and the warmth of Kurt’s leather jacket beneath his hands. His body was hot, his skin too tight, arousal rolling through his veins in waves; he shivered.

“Are you cold?” Kurt asked. His voice was low and his eyes were dark.

“Not really,” Blaine said breathlessly. He barely realized as he went up on his knees, his eyes directly level with Kurt’s. He looked down at Kurt’s lips and then—

Later, Blaine would think back to when they kissed and wouldn’t be able to remember who moved first, who first touched hands to bodies or lips to lips. It was gentle and rough and soft and hard, slow caresses to forceful pushes to moments of stillness; Blaine lay between Kurt’s legs, hovering over him; Kurt knocked away the Tupperware boxes and rolled them over, and the ground was hard under his back but Blaine was more concerned with the tingling in his lips.

Heat bloomed outwards from everywhere Kurt touched him, whether it was steadfast hands against his waist or an incidental brush of a leg against his hip. It was a heat that caught on the sparks ignited by his earlier flight on the motorbike and waves of electricity raced around his body, wave after wave after wave until Blaine was hard in his jeans and shaking hard enough to fall apart.

Blaine wouldn’t remember who was the first to begin, or when their kisses began to slow down; he would only remember the press of Kurt’s body and wanting it to never end.


	2. maybe if i leave tonight, i won't come back

**PART TWO: MAYBE IF I LEAVE TONIGHT, I WON'T COME BACK**

* * *

_when the day has come that i've lost my way around_   
_and the season stop and hide beneath the ground_   
_when the sky turns grey, and everything is screaming_   
_i will reach inside just to find my heart is beating_

* * *

**Blaine  
** Thank you again for the lifts :)

 **Kurt  
** Believe me, Blaine, the pleasure is entirely mine.

 **Blaine  
** Could I treat you to a coffee tomorrow afternoon?

 **Kurt**  
Alas, I have the closing shift tomorrow.  
I realized I forgot to tell you, so I won’t be able to give you a ride home tomorrow.

 **Blaine  
** I don’t mind. I can work in the library until you’re done.

 **Kurt  
** Aw, aren’t you sweet?

 **Blaine**  
Or I don’t want to take the bus, lol  
What time do you finish?

* * *

 **Kurt**  
Pete let me leave my shift early!  
(Pete is the manager when my dad’s not around.)  
So I’m coming to pick you up! I’ll be in the parking lot by 16.20

 **Blaine  
** Stepping back on high school grounds?

 **Kurt  
** There are certain sacrifices one must make when robbing the cradle

 **Blaine**  
I’m barely a year younger than you!  
And isn’t that a phrase about older women?

 **Kurt  
** And yet here I am, a working man fooling around with a high school student. Now do your homework ;)

 **Blaine  
** Yes, sir ;)

* * *

 **Blaine  
** When you pick me up tomorrow, would you kindly return my bow tie?

 **Kurt  
** ;)

 **Blaine**  
[picture]  
Look how lonely my bow ties are without it.

 **Kurt  
** I will return your bow tie . . . IF I can borrow that fine-looking purple ascot.

* * *

Once a month, Wednesday to Sunday, Kurt’s dad went to Washington DC. He was no longer a Congressman, because he had never been a politician in any capacity, but he had left enough of an impression that his successor liked to have his support. They also met every other Monday, where they would talk, off the books, about policies. “No idea what he expects from me,” he had said, bewildered, on more than one occasion, “whatever I’ve got to say ain’t anywhere close to what his actual advisors’ve got.”

Still, his dad liked to keep friendly connections, so to DC he went. This resulted in, once a month, Kurt and Sam having the house to themselves for five days. There were, for a while, a number of Glee parties when Sam stayed in Lima for the weekend; after Burt proposed to Carole Hudson, Carole’s son Finn insisted he and Kurt hang out more. There was always Scandals, although Kurt only went when he was in a particular mood (that is, when he didn’t mind fending off the advances of closeted middle aged men, and when he was feeling isolated in a way that a shopping date with Tina wouldn’t abate).

For the most part, Kurt didn’t mind being alone in the house. He was well practiced in spending time with himself, and he preferred his own company in his own house compared to being bored among a crowd of people anyway. The only consistent drawback to his dad’s monthly trip was the disruption of Friday Night Dinner; they tried to Skype, and Finn often came over, but it wasn’t the same, and his dad was sometimes too busy.

This particular Friday night, Kurt was alone. He’d been texting Blaine what felt like constantly over the past couple of days, and singing or humming whenever else. His dad’s workers grinned whenever they caught him. Kurt would be embarrassed, but he’d spent the past three days also making out with Blaine and it was hard to care about such things as teasing or concentrating on his job.

He had never liked a boy so much before. None of the boys in his class had been worth his time, and even after the beginning of Glee club, it had taken him a while to warm up to anyone, and still he found the boys completely unappealing.

(That was a slight lie. He had, during their sophomore year, had a small crush on Mike Chang. He was quiet and tended to only touch anyone, including Kurt, during dance rehearsals. There was also, in his junior year, the few weeks he fancied Sam Evans as at least bicurious, but then his father had had a heart attack and romance became the least of his concerns.)

After dinner, Kurt pulled out his laptop and Skyped Mercedes. Being in LA, she was three hours behind, and outside the sun was still far from setting. They began with pleasantries, gossiped about their old classmates, and talked about the latest moves in Mercedes’ musical career. Kurt tried to fetch the designs for his next tattoo, but Mercedes stopped him with an arched brow and a smirking mouth.

“So who’s the guy?”

Blood flooded Kurt’s face so thoroughly he could see it even in his tiny window. “His name’s Blaine Anderson,” he said; with that, the floodgates opened, and Kurt couldn’t help but sigh and gush to his best friend about the dreamiest guy he’d ever seen.

“Boy, you haven’t even been on a date yet?” Mercedes scolded as Kurt wound down.

“There hasn’t been time.” Kurt cleared his throat, fighting another blush. “But, since Dad and Sam are both away this weekend . . .”

“Kurt Hummel!” For a moment, Mercedes held her scandalized expression, and then the two broke down into giggles.

"I don’t want to go that far,” Kurt said. “But I really like him and god knows there’s nowhere interesting to go in this town.”

“Just stay safe, and tell me all the details afterwards.”

“Miss Jones, you know a gentleman never kisses and tells.” Kurt raised an eyebrow, and turned up his nose in faux offence when Mercedes cracked up again.

“Doll, you ain’t been a gentleman for as long as I’ve known you,” she said in breathless gasps. “Now text him!”

“Once upon a time, you would never have dared to sass boy.”

Mercedes snorted. “I think you severely overestimate how intimidating you were.”

* * *

 **Kurt  
** Do you have any plans for this weekend?

 **Blaine**  
Nothing that can’t be procrastinated.  
(Homework and chores. Homework and chores are my plans for this weekend.)

 **Kurt  
** Ha! Well as much as I hate to take you away from your homework and chores, I have an alternative offer for you.

 **Blaine  
** I’m intrigued, do tell.

 **Kurt**  
I have the house to myself this weekend . . . I was wondering if you would grace me with your company.  
If it’s alright with your parents, of course.

 **Kurt**  
Blaine? You don’t have to if you don’t want to  
And I’m not trying to illicit sex from you  
I can set up the spare bedroom  
We can sit chastely on opposite sides of the couch and stare at each other if that’ll make you the most comfortable

 **Blaine**  
Sorry, I fell asleep. But yes, I can come over!  
And thank you for the offer but I think I’m comfortable with more than just staring at each other . . . You’re so sweet. (Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. ;))  
(Also, it’s ‘elicit’)

 **Kurt**  
Shit, you’ve found out my darkest secret. I don’t know if I want to come over now  
(Don’t be a smartass)  
(I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 2)

* * *

Blaine came back to consciousness slow and confused. The room was, but for the floor lamp, dark around him; the last thing he remembered was reading about magnetic forces and listening to Spotify on his laptop. There were noises coming from elsewhere in the apartment, but before Blaine woke up enough to worry about it, his brother appeared in his sleep-blurred vision.

“Good, you’re awake,” Cooper said, ruffling Blaine’s hair and then pulling his hand away with a grimace. “I was wondering if I was gonna have to carry you, though you’re a lot bigger than when you were six.”

Blaine rubbed his eyes, stretched and yawned. “What time ‘zit?” he asked. He reached for his phone and turned on the lock screen, and he saw four messages from Kurt at the same time Cooper glibly answered, “Oh, about midnight.”

Icy fear numbed Blaine’s fingers and tripped his heart, and the heat of anger set them both working again. “What the hell, Cooper?! You should’ve just stayed another night!”

“Relax, little brother. As you can see, I’m home safe.”

Blaine glared at him, hands in fists at his sides as he fights down both the lump in his throat and the urge to hit his brother.

“It was a waste of a trip anyway.” Cooper sighed, throwing himself onto the couch next to Blaine and putting his feet up on the coffee table. “I’m an established Hollywood actor! Theatre is just such a step back. And, to tell you a secret, I’m pretty sure the casting directors know that I’m vastly overqualified.”

“Maybe you should find a non-performing job, then,” Blaine said.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Blaine, I need to keep my instrument fine-tuned,” Cooper said, with no further explanation of what exactly his instrument was. “Speaking of which, where’s your car? It wasn’t in your spot, and I noticed the keys are not on the hook. You didn’t crash it, did you?”

Anger rose again in Blaine stomach – except this time it was mixed with bile. Blaine shot off the sofa, keeping his back to Cooper and gathering up his books and laptop as he forced himself to say, “No, actually, part of the engine died, I took it to a mechanic and I’ll get it back on Monday. A friend’s been giving me a lift, thanks for asking.”

“Blaine—”

“There are leftovers in the refrigerator if you want them. Goodnight.”

He fled to his room without even brushing his teeth.

* * *

_you got a history list and the rest is above_   
_and if you're warm then you can't relate to me_

* * *

The party had started off with just the graduating students and the junior Warblers, but by the time the punch had been spiked and someone’s parents’ liquor cabinet broken into, there were at least twice as many attendees. If Blaine had still been sober, he would have noted that it was a good thing most Dalton students lived in borderline mansions; as it was, he was only drunk enough to keep dancing, keep singing, and keep drinking.

These were the only things Blaine would be able to remember:

1.) Making out with at least two guys and one girl. Blaine was an affectionate drunk but he didn’t usually go round kissing people, so he must have joined in a game, but he was never able to find out for sure.

2.) Tripping over his feet. He was happy, but for the life of him he didn’t know who he was dancing with.

3.) Laughter.

4.) Fireworks. Whether it was a one-off or part of a show, he was outside, surrounded by the heat of friends and early summer.

5.) A cool window against his forehead, frustration and petulance mixing with nausea in his stomach.

6.) Waking up in a hospital, completely disoriented, almost a day later. He stayed awake only long enough to realize he’d been seriously injured. He was attending his parents’ funeral before he’d even found out the whole story.

7.) Cooper, puffy-eyed, asleep. He was holding Blaine’s hand. Blaine stared at him until his painkillers started to wear off.

* * *

_is this just an illusion_   
_that i made inside my head to get me by?_

 

* * *

By the time Cooper stumbled from his bedroom at twelve-fifty, Blaine had returned from a run, showered, meticulously shaved, cleaned every room but Cooper’s, packed and repacked his overnight bag, taught himself a new song on his guitar, and started on his second batch of cookies.

“Mornin’,” Cooper yawned, ruffling his own hair as he stretched. Blaine rolled his eyes; even though he was almost thirty, Cooper still behaved like a college frat boy, and to make it worse, even three days of stubble didn’t stop him from looking like a Disney prince. If Blaine didn’t shave every day, he looked like a caveman. Or homeless. Or a homeless caveman.

“Afternoon,” he responded, sounding more passive-aggressive than he’d intended.

“ _You_ , little brother,” Cooper said, pointing at Blaine as he helped himself to a handful of cooling cookies, “need to lighten up. Eighteen is too young for lines.”

Blaine turned back to the cookie batter and fought back a scowl. Had Cooper always been this obnoxious? He couldn’t have just made up all the fun childhood memories.

“These are excellent, Blaine.”

“Really?”

“They’re a little crunchy around the edge, but really, if Broadway doesn’t work out for you, you have a bright, delicious future as a baker ahead of you.”

“Fine.” Blaine tossed the spatula back in the mixing bowl and shoved it at Cooper. The spatula flipped out, leaving a trail of batter on Cooper’s stomach. “You finish it, then. I need to get ready, anyway. And don’t eat any more of the finished ones.”

He stormed back to his room to repack his bag for the third time. He ended up swapping his pajamas for a more casual sweatpants-and-undershirt getup. Ten minutes later (during which his anger burned away and left him feeling embarrassed by his outburst at Cooper), he put the pajamas back in. He would decide which to wear once he’d seen what Kurt was wearing to bed. He considered changing his outfit again, but Cooper had already seen him and Blaine didn’t want him to raise suspicion.

Blaine checked the time, his hair and his bag one last time and left his room.

Cooper was sitting on the kitchen counter, eating the raw cookie dough straight from the bowl, and it took Blaine a concerted effort to not roll his eyes again. At least that meant he wasn’t eating the actual cookies.

As Blaine found a container and a lid, Cooper kicked his foot in the direction of Blaine’s bag and asked, “I haven’t driven you to a life on the streets, have I?”

“I could never give up running water,” Blaine answered. “I’m hanging out with Nick tonight.”

Cooper’s face lit up, and Blaine couldn’t help but smile in return. “Good for you, squirt,” he said, holding the bowl out in Blaine’s direction.

“Don’t call me that,” Blaine said, and then got two spoons from the drawer. Cooper accepted one with, thankfully, no more than a teasing roll of his eyes, and shuffled over so Blaine could pull himself up onto the counter as well.

Their companionable silence lasted for almost five minutes, and then Cooper restarted his criticism of all the casting directors he’d auditioned for over the past four days. They were under-qualified, intimidated by Cooper’s superior talent, unfairly judging him for his Hollywood background. Blaine made some supportive and commiserative noises, though he zoned out when Cooper started talking about his Acting Masterclass.

“I’m incredibly sought out in LA,” Cooper was saying when Blaine’s vibrating phone brought him back to earth. “Really, I wouldn’t have any time to audition if I went to every college I was asked to.”

“Sure,” Blaine said, shuffling off the counter. “Maybe you should call your agent and get that sorted out. Meanwhile, I—” He forced himself not to show his excitement too obviously. “—am going to go.”

Without giving Cooper the chance to even get off the counter – or worse, leave the apartment in just his boxers to meet ‘Nick’ – Blaine picked up his bag and the box of cookies, and called a farewell over his shoulder as he hurried from the apartment.

* * *

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Blaine registered Kurt’s voice before he registered Kurt’s appearance; a smile had started to grow on his lips, and then the picture in front of him hit him and his mouth dropped open. For one thing, Kurt was leaning against a car, a massive, shiny black giant that looked like it cost a lot of money. But it appeared that Kurt had also taken advantage of the car to show off more of his wardrobe – and his _skin_ , because his pink-speckled black jeans were also artfully shredded, showing off vast swaths of pale flesh, and his short-sleeved shirt looked almost strained around his biceps. The look was perfectly finished off with a vest from which three chains dangled, white Doc Martens and gravity defying rainbow hair, but it took all Blaine’s concentration to walk normally, never mind admire the entire outfit.

“Like what you see?” Kurt was full-on smirking, and at the same time to be almost preening under Blaine’s gaze.

“Ye-es.” Blaine’s voice cracked, and his cheeks immediately flooded with embarrassment. “I mean, it’s nice to see you do actually own a car.”

“I wasn’t sure how much you’d want to bring with you,” Kurt said. He stepped away from the car, and his smirk grew when Blaine’s eyes darted back down to his legs completely of their own accord. “Do you wanna put your bag in the trunk? I thought you could buy me lunch before we go to mine.”

Blaine’s eyebrows rose as he handed over his bag. “ _I_ buy _you_ lunch?”

“Were you or were you not disappointed by the lack of motorbike?”

“I can honestly say that I’m not disappointed at all,” Blaine murmured, staring at Kurt’s arms as he reached to close the trunk.

Kurt laughed. “Come on, Casanova,” he said, “let’s go get lunch.”

It took Blaine until midway through their first coffee – and long after they’d finished their sandwiches – for him to stop staring and get the rest of his brain back. Kurt was grinning the entire time, obviously knowing _exactly_ what he was doing, but Blaine did managed not to humiliate himself: his conversational abilities barely suffered at all, and years of singing classes helped his voice control.

Their second coffees were bought of Kurt, and then they were finally on their way to Kurt’s house. Anticipation built in Blaine’s stomach, and he had to sit with his hands between his legs so that Kurt wouldn’t be able to see him shaking if he looked away from the road. Their conversation remained unbroken, even as they pulled into the driveway, Kurt returned Blaine’s bag to him, and they removed their shoes in the entrance hall.

“There’s not much,” Kurt said, looking round the house with a fond, bittersweet smile on his face, “but it’s the house I grew up in. We’re actually moving soon, so you’re pretty lucky we haven’t started packing yet.”

Blaine didn’t get to say goodbye to his childhood home; by the time he’d got out of hospital, Cooper had already sold everything or moved it to the apartment in Lima.

“You alright?”

Blaine blinked himself back to the present and forced on a smile. Kurt’s expression was pulled up in concern.

“I’m fine, Kurt,” Blaine said, and when Kurt looked unconvinced, added, “Really. Why are you moving soon?”

“My dad’s engaged, actually! Carole – that’s the woman he’s marrying, she’s a really lovely lady – still has her son living with her, and obviously I still live with Dad, and one of our friends is living here while he finishes school so we need a bit more room.”

“Kurt, that’s awesome! Congratulations, to you and your dad.”

“Thanks.” Kurt beamed – his lips were stretched wide across his face, his eyes twinkled, and his dimples had never been deeper. It was so at odds with his punkish outfit and cool demeanor. For a moment, Blaine struggled to find his breath. “Shall we get on with The Grand Tour By Yours Truly? That’s all capitalized, by the way.”

Blaine laughed. “Lead the way.”

Kurt took Blaine’s bag, slung it over his own shoulders, and grabbed Blaine’s hand to lead him into the house proper. Blaine listened to the tour with upmost concentration, enjoying the comfortable, steady warmth of Kurt’s hand, and looking at the dozens of framed photographs on the wall.

“Upstairs is a bathroom, Dad’s bedroom, Dad’s study slash Sam’s bedroom. Sam shared with me for a while – he was really good about it, actually, I don’t know if you’ve seen him round McKinley but no matter how much your gaydar pings, he’s really very straight, though he had no problems about bunking with me – but I got fed up of all the video games and he got way too much enjoyment walking around the bedroom shirtless.”

“Is he sure he’s straight?”

“By his own admission, he’s not even the slightest bit bicurious. It’s probably just because he used to be a stripper.”

Blaine was speechless. He was pretty sure it was illegal for someone high-school aged to be a stripper, for one. For another, what _does_ one say to that?

Whatever his expression was, Kurt took one look and burst into giggles. “It’s a long story,” he eventually said, squeezing Blaine’s hand.

“We have time now,” Blaine said.

Kurt shrugged, still smiling, and throughout the tour of the ground floor summarized Sam the stripper’s story. It was thrilling to see Kurt’s house, guessing what of the décor was Kurt’s influence and what was Burt’s.

The most notable moment of the ground floor were the photographs of Kurt as a small child with a woman. Kurt was the spitting image of her, and Blaine knew even before Kurt said anything that she was his deceased mother. Blaine had to take a few slow, deep breaths; when he had himself back under control, he looked away from a photo of a happy family of three and pulled the grown up Kurt into a hug.

When they separated, they wiped their eyes, and Kurt smiled at Blaine softly. “Thanks.” They moved onto the final room of the house: the basement, and Kurt’s bedroom.

“Wow,” Blaine said, letting go of Kurt’s hand to explore the large room in closer detail. He hadn’t known what to expect but the room in front of him was simultaneously classy and edgy, and Blaine found himself wholly unsurprised. Three of the walls were painted a light shade of off-white, one deep red, with posters, playbills and framed photographs artfully placed; the carpet was pale brown to coordinate with the skirting board and furniture; there was a couch facing a TV surrounded by DVDs and an impressive sound system, a vanity covered in jars and pots, a bedside table with a stack of fashion magazines. Eventually, he finally turned to Kurt with a smile and said, “Kurt, this is incredible. I can’t believe you have a signed _Company_ playbill!”

Kurt gave him that half-smile again and finally stopped hovering at the staircase. “Of course it’s incredible,” he said, “I designed it.”

Now they were standing in front of each other, with the culmination of hours of flirting, anticipation and an entire theme park of emotional rollercoasters crackling in the inches between them. Blaine’s eyes kept slipping to Kurt’s lips, but through his foggy head he felt as if he were waiting for something.

“We could watch a movie,” Kurt said breathlessly. “Listen to some music. Dig out a board game. I meant it, my text, I didn’t invite you over to take advantage of you.”

"What if I want you to take advantage of me?” Blaine raised his eyes to meet Kurt’s in a challenge that sparked the fire, and then Kurt’s lips were searing against his in a forceful kiss. Kurt hands were strong, almost desperate, around his waist, pulling Blaine’s shirt from his jeans incidentally; Blaine cupped Kurt’s face, his jaw, his shoulders when Kurt forced them so close together that Blaine went up on his toes.

Kurt’s body was hard against his, from his chest to his thighs; his head was spinning but he didn’t realize it was because he was barely pausing to breathe until his legs almost gave up and he almost pulled them both over.

“The couch,” Kurt said, almost rasping.

“Yeah,” Blaine breathed out, letting Kurt guide them over. He followed Kurt’s movements closely, almost tripping them over; when Kurt sat, Blaine copied, nearly in Kurt’s lap in his effort to stay close.

Their kisses evolved, softening from desperate lust to long, slow caresses. When his lips became tender, Blaine moved from Kurt’s lips to skim his jaw, to kiss his neck. Kurt let out a high, breathless moan, sparking the arousal smoldering in Blaine’s gut to alight again with flames and he surged upwards again to kiss Kurt’s mouth.

Kurt slouched on the couch, and Blaine lay half on top of him. They half-lay twisted together, and, god, Kurt was so hard against his leg; Blaine couldn’t stop himself from thrusting forward. Kurt gasped, rocked his hips up, and Blaine quickly pulled away so he wouldn’t immediately come in his pants.

Underneath him, Kurt looked absolutely sinful: with his mussed hair, red lips and blazing eyes, he was a devil disguised as an angel. And Blaine was tempted – it would be so easy to lower his body again, to kiss Kurt, to be electrified by Kurt’s firm, gentle hands.

“We should – we should cool off.” Blaine’s voice was low and rough, but Kurt finally looked away from his mouth and the temptation began to lessen.

“Agreed,” Kurt said, and Blaine forced himself to move away.

While Kurt went upstairs again to get them some drinks, Blaine went to the bathroom. He splashed his face, used the toilet, washed his hands, and admired the blue and white abstract print on the wall until he was no longer blushing. When he finally came out the bathroom, Kurt’s face also looked freshly scrubbed.

“Pick a movie, any movie,” Kurt said with his half-smile, waving a hand in the direction of his DVD case. Blaine laughed. “Also, I have an idea about what we can do tonight.”

“You mean we’re _not_ just watching movies until we fall asleep?”

“God, no. You may have robbed a Brooks Brothers store—” Blaine feigned offence and Kurt’s smile widened. “—but we aren’t seventy.”

“At least I haven’t completely ripped off John Travolta,” Blaine said, pulling _Grease_ from the shelf. Kurt sighed and tipped his water in Blaine’s direction.

“Touché.”

Blaine handed the case over to Kurt and sat on the couch. “So what’s the plan for tonight?” he asked.

Kurt looked over his shoulder, his grin wide and mischievous. “Have you heard of Scandals?”

* * *

Blaine couldn’t stop fidgeting with his bow tie. Kurt had assured him that he was perfect as he was but it didn’t stop Blaine from thinking too much – would he stand out among a group of shirtless or fishnet-and-booty-short-wearing men? Maybe he should restyle his hair, or change his jeans. And why was Kurt taking so long in the bathroom?

Eventually, Kurt knocked on the bathroom door and called, “Are you dressed?”

Blaine stopped pacing the room and perched on the couch, as if he’d been sitting there the entire time. “Yeah.”

“That’s a shame,” Kurt said, opening the bathroom door and coming back into the bedroom. Blaine opened his mouth to respond but all that came out was a gust of air as he realized what Kurt was wearing: boots almost up to his knees, obscenely tight jeans, a tank top covered in skulls layered under a long fishnet tunic, and eyeliner. Goddamn eyeliner. With the sleevelessness and the transparency of the tunic showing off two tattoos, it was as though Kurt had stepped right out of Blaine’s adolescent fantasies.

“Ready to go?” Kurt asked, folding his arms in front of his chest.

Blaine said, “Guh.”

Kurt laughed, linked their arms, and pulled him out the house.

In the car, Kurt handed over his phone with instructions for Blaine to put on the dance playlist, and then chattered for most of the drive. “I’m not a big drinker,” he said, “but I like something to start off the night. It’s a total dive bar so they won’t care that you’re underage as long as you don’t get really drunk.”

“It’s fine,” Blaine said. “I don’t drink much anyway. I can just have lemonade or something.”

True to his word, Kurt ordered two vodka and lemonades – “and for one, hold the vodka,” he added with a wink at Blaine.

“Is that Tina Turner?” Blaine shouted over the music, pointing his glass at a drag queen. Kurt smirked.

“You should come back on a Thursdays,” he replied. “That’s drag queen night. I’ve never seen so many fabulous ladies in one place.”

Kurt practically downed his drink and urged Blaine to drink his lemonade quicker too. When Blaine still, in Kurt’s opinion, took too long, Kurt went out onto the dance floor and started dancing and mouthing along with the songs. For a while, Blaine stayed in his seat – their mutual teasing built the tension higher and higher, and Blaine felt almost drunk on it by the time he finally abandoned his stool. At the first indication of his standing up, Kurt left his dance partner and dragged him out, settled his hands on Blaine’s waist, and pulled him close.

“You’re such a _tease_ ,” Kurt said, eyes alight with amusement.

Blaine laughed. “You’re one to talk,” he said. “All I was doing was sitting.”

As the night wore on, they danced closer, drank more, did a few shots. Blaine hardly knew the other clubbers were there; they were just other bodies, pressing him and Kurt closer together, raising the temperature until sweat stuck their clothes to them. His head swam with alcohol and arousal and his heart beat in time with the bass.

By the time they left the bar, Blaine couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “I love this place,” he sighed. He tried to spin with glee, and Kurt caught up when he tripped over his own feet, giggling. “Whoops,” he said. “Kurt, I want to _live_ here. We could live here and be happy _all the time_.”

“You’re cute.”

Blaine wrapped his arms around Kurt’s wide, wide shoulders, and he dragged his lips over Kurt’s neck. Kurt gasped and shivered every time Blaine passed over a particular area, a spot just below the corner of his jaw.

“ _You’re_ cute,” he mumbled into Kurt’s skin.

They eventually made it into the car – after making out _against_ it for a while – and Blaine’s head rolled against the headrest so he could keep watching Kurt.

“You’re okay to drive, right?” he asked, stifling a yawn as his excitement began to fade.

“I’ve only drunk water the past couple of hours,” Kurt said. He shot Blaine a loose smile, and Blaine’s grin grew in response.

The music played quietly. Kurt hummed along, and Blaine stared at him through increasingly heavy eyes. The way the light passed over his face, highlighting and shadowing and highlighting as they drove passed streetlamp after streetlamp, was hypnotizing. It was a trance that didn’t fade even when they got back to Kurt’s house, even as Blaine forced himself to brush his teeth, wash his face, put on pajamas. Kurt came downstairs from the family bathroom in proper pajamas as well, and Blaine giggled sleepily.

“You’re wearing jammies,” he teased.

“If you tell anyone, I’ll have to deny it and kill you.” Kurt grinned, and then glanced at the bed. “Do you want to . . . ?”

Blaine shook his head. Anticipation rolled in his stomach, but it was lazy, almost obligatory. He’d shared beds with the Warblers before but they usually went top-and-tails, and Blaine wasn’t attracted to any of them anyway. Certainly not the way he was attracted to Kurt.

He wrapped his arms around Kurt before they were lying down, rested his head on Kurt’s chest. His heartbeat was steady, his hand warm on Blaine’s back. His pajamas were soft against Blaine’s cheek – they felt like silk – and Blaine smiled even as his eyes closed.

Kurt was a contradiction. He was combat boots and Judy Garland vinyls, tattoos and silk pajamas, multicolored hair and Vogue magazines by his bed. Blaine sighed happily, burrowing closer into Kurt’s side. There was a glow in his chest, spreading warmth all over his body. Kurt was _beautiful_. Blaine had never felt so safe, so alive, than he did when he was with Kurt – or so vulnerable. Kurt was going to break his heart one day, he knew, but that was okay. It was broken already, and knowing Kurt now was going to be worth all the pain later.

* * *

Blaine was waking up before he realized he’d fallen asleep, and he instantly wished he were still unconscious. This wasn’t the worst hangover he’d had – he’d drunk a lot more of a couple of the Warbler parties – but it was still _bad_. He felt like someone had stuffed cotton wool and a dirty sock in his mouth and then hit him over the head a couple of times with a fire extinguisher.

“Morning,” Kurt said, his voice scratchy and quiet. Blaine groaned in response. Kurt huffed a laugh, his chest rising and falling underneath Blaine’s cheek. He gently massaged Blaine’s head, and Blaine groaned for an entirely different reason.

“Don’t stop.”

“I’ll get stuck to you with all the gel.”

Blaine didn’t need to open his eyes to know that Kurt was smiling. “Sorry.”

Kurt hummed. His reverberated in his chest. It was bizarre, feeling the noise and hearing it at the same time. “Don’t apologize,” he said. “It’s cute. A bit excessive, but very you.”

“Thanks,” Blaine might have said, but dozing off again he wasn’t sure.

The next time Blaine woke up, Kurt was asleep. He untangled himself, just a little, but Kurt complained anyway. Without waking up. It was so adorable that Blaine’s heart actually skipped a beat and, smiling, head laying on Kurt’s shoulder, he drifted back away.

Eventually, they both woke up and stayed awake, though they didn’t get out of bed straight away. Blaine was torn between starving and nausea, but he was both warm and comfortable in Kurt’s arms. Kurt turned on a chilled out playlist, and they talked quietly, intermittently, lazily, until their bodies protested too much. Kurt showed Blaine how to work the shower and, after a few heated moments, left him to it.

Really, as much as Blaine wouldn’t have minded Kurt joining him for the shower, he wasn’t ready for that big a step, especially while hungover. And it was far too soon to show Kurt his natural hair – they weren’t even officially dating. Still, surrounded by the scents of Kurt’s cosmetics, Blaine was buoyed with happiness and he didn’t even try to stop himself from singing as he washed his hair.

It was an hour before they joined up again. By this time, Blaine felt much fresher and hardly hungover at all. Kurt cooked up some scrambled eggs, and he actually blushed when Blaine exclaimed them the best he’d ever eaten. Naturally, Blaine had to tease him.

After their late brunch, they talked some more, migrating closer to each other on the couch until their legs wound together.

“I may have eavesdropped on you in the shower a bit,” Kurt said after a lull.

“Um.” Blaine felt his cheeks burn, but Kurt had turned pink.

“Not on purpose,” he hurried to explain. “I forgot a change of clothes and I heard you singing. Sorry.”

“It’s, uh, fine.” Blaine squeezed Kurt’s hand, hoping for comfort.

“Anyway, I-I only mentioned it because I wondered if you’d joined the New Directions yet, or were planning to? Sectionals is only a couple of months away and with you, those other suckers wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“What if those other suckers are the Warblers?” Blaine asked. The tips of his ears were still warm, but he was smiling.

Kurt shrugged. “Without your simply incredible voice? Still suckers.”

Blaine ducked his head with a soft laugh. “I haven’t really thought about it,” he said.

“Well, mister, you’d better start thinking or else I’ll start making PowerPoint presentations to convince you.”

They moved back to the kitchen for lunch, and not long after, Cooper began texting Blaine asking when he’d be home. Blaine pulled a face, and Kurt was more or less accurate in guessing why. (He said ‘parents’, and Blaine let him think that. He didn’t want to break the spell of this weekend yet.)

“Probably better you’re gone before my dad gets back, anyway,” Kurt said. He laughed at Blaine’s stricken expression. But they were still slow to finally get moving, and it made Blaine warm inside to think that Kurt didn’t want this weekend to end either. He almost said something really stupid (something really scary, something it was definitely far too early to feel), so he ended up kissing Kurt instead. The minutes dragged on; this time they remained vertical, but Blaine couldn’t help slipping his hands under Kurt’s loose t-shirt.

But the weekend did have to end. Kurt drove Blaine back to his shitty apartment, chattering about Mr. Hummel’s work in DC, about how proud he was. His entire being lit up when he talked about his dad and it was . . . adorable.

Too soon, they were back at the apartment block. Blaine unbuckled his seatbelt and then turned to Kurt. “So I’m getting my car back tomorrow . . .”

“You are.” There seemed to be a façade over Kurt’s face, all confidence and flirtatious. He leaned into Blaine’s personal space, danced two fingers over Blaine’s bare skin. “Though I certainly hope this tryst of ours will continue,” he purred. As if Blaine needed seducing.

“Me too,” he said, breath catching in his throat. “And – I would very much like to be your boyfriend.”

Kurt’s mask fell away. “Well, I should think so!” he said, and Blaine laughed. “I’m quite a catch.”

“You are.”

They kissed softly, and when Kurt pulled away, he didn’t go far: his forehead rested against Blaine’s, and his eyes stayed closed.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” Blaine asked, a whisper of a breath.

“Yeah.”

They separated, Blaine gathered his bag and jacket, and he forced himself to walk normally to the doorstep. After unlocking the door, he blew Kurt a kiss, and his stunning paradox of a boyfriend didn’t drive away until he was inside.

The apartment, typically, was empty. Blaine unpacked his bag, putting toiletries in the bathroom and dirty clothes in the hamper. Then threw himself onto his bed and grinned into his pillows, wriggling with joy.


	3. through the tattered window pane

**PART 3: THROUGH THE TATTERED WINDOW PANE**  

* * *

_you’ve got to live your life_   
_while your blood is boiling_   
_those doors won’t open_   
_while you stand and watch them_

* * *

Blaine was startled awake by the fire alarm, and he was stumbling out of his room with one shoe on and one in his hand before Cooper shouted to him, “Don’t worry, false alarm! We’re not on fire!”

The fire alarm switched off. Their upstairs neighbor hit against the floor, with a faint echo of a shout. Blaine rubbed his eyes, tossed his shoes away, and stormed into the kitchen.

“What the actual hell, Cooper?!”

“The waffle maker’s broken.”

Blaine pressed his palms against his eyes. Since when did they have a waffle maker? “Why are you even awake right now?” he asked instead.

“Duh, so I can meet your ride. It’s my duty to make sure my little brother isn’t hanging out with the wrong crowd.”

Blaine imagined what Cooper’s first impression of Kurt would be and headed immediately for the coffee machine. “It’s too early for his,” he muttered to himself.

While Cooper glumly cleared up his mess of batter, Blaine disappeared into his room to drink his coffee in peace, and tried to ignore that it was five fucking thirty.

It was undeniably weird to have Cooper awake in the morning. Blaine could probably count on both hands how many times he’d seen Cooper before midday; the only times he could recall seeing Cooper before nine began with when Blaine was in hospital and ended with Blaine finishing physical therapy.

Blaine was accustomed to taking his time in the morning, to enjoying the quiet moments of the day. With Cooper awake, however, quiet moments weren’t possible, whether he was knocking on the bathroom door telling Blaine to hurry up or he would pee in the sink or barging in on Blaine while he’s changing in his bedroom.

“Knock, Cooper!”

“Seriously, squirt, stop being so uptight. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before! Besides, I come bearing breakfast.”

“You’re not ‘bearing breakfast’ if you left it in the kitchen,” Blaine said, slipping his cardigan on before following Cooper out into the kitchen, where he found that, rather than attempting another cooked breakfast, Cooper had poured him some cereal. Plain cereal, too, so Blaine chopped up some fruit and nuts and sprinkled them on top.

“More coffee?” Cooper asked. Blaine nodded. “It stunts your growth, you know. You’ll never be tall if you don’t cut back.”

“You don’t need to criticize _everything_ , Cooper.”

“I’m not criticizing you. Here, give me your bowl, I’ll even clean up.”

Blaine wondered if Cooper was dropped on his head as a child.

While Cooper washed up, Blaine collected his school bag; at almost that exact moment, his phone vibrated as well with a message from Kurt.

“My ride’s here,” he said as he left his room.

“Change of plans, little brother!” Cooper responded, thrusting out the dish towel dramatically in Blaine’s direction. “I’m gonna take you to school myself! We can get in some good brotherly bonding time.”

“Cooper, he’s _already here_. No. I’ll see you later.”

Once again, Blaine made a speedy exit from the apartment, but he took the steps two at a time because he was excited to see Kurt. Kurt who was his boyfriend.

He was grinning and a little warm – in a way that had nothing to do with exertion – by the time he reached the bottom of the stairs. Outside, Kurt is also a little pink and a lot smiley.

“Morning, stranger,” Blaine said, reaching out just to touch. Kurt pulled him in the rest of the way, kissing him squarely on the mouth.

“Morning, gorgeous,” Kurt returned lightly. Blaine both smiled and blushed harder at the endearment, and kissed Kurt again. “Has it been a good one?”

“Weird, actually, but it’s better now that you’re here.” Blaine petted the handlebar of the motorbike. “And I see we’re back on the bike.”

“Disappointed?”

Blaine raised his chin and batted his eyelashes, affecting a breathy Southern Belle voice as he asked, “Would you be a kind gentleman and help me put my helmet on?”

Kurt laughed, and inclined his head in a small bow. “Of course, good sir.” His fingers brushed against Blaine’s neck as he did up the clip. It was a delicate touch, but all the more sensual for it, and Blaine didn’t realize he was holding his breath until Kurt moved away again to get him the spare jacket. Blaine took the helmet off himself when they got to McKinley, and said goodbye to Kurt with a hand on his shoulder.

He went straight to the choir room. There was a room off to the side, a small desk crammed awkwardly among shelves and shelves of paper and music books. Sitting at the desk was not the man Blaine remembered shaking hands with but one of the male leads of the New Directions.

Blaine knocked on the door frame and the lead looked up. “Can I help you?” he asked, peering at Blaine’s face. “Wait, do I know you?”

“We’ve competed before,” Blaine said, “I used to be in the Warblers.”

“Yeah! You were the lead guy. I remember you now. You’re Blaine, right? Kurt told me about you.”

“He did?” Blaine hoped his blush wasn’t too obvious.

“He’s gonna be my brother.” The lead – Finn, Blaine realized – stood up to shake Blaine hand. “I’m the director while Mr. Schue’s in New York. It’s good to meet you.”

“You too.”

“So what can I do for you, Blaine? You wanna join the New Directions?”

“That’s the plan.”

Finn grinned.

* * *

The choir room was mostly empty when Blaine arrived. There were two girls sitting in the front row chatting, one a skinny brunette and the other a curvy black girl. Blaine hesitated just outside the door; his stomach was twisting in knots. When was the last time he’d been so nervous? Auditioning for the Warblers, maybe? Once inside, he wasn’t sure where to sit, so he hovered awkwardly by the piano and texted Kurt.

“Hey, cutie,” one of the girls said, and Blaine looked up.

“Me?”

“Who else would I be talking to?” The girl raised her eyebrows.

“Are you auditioning?” the other girl asked.

“Yeah. I’m Blaine.”

“Marley.”

“Unique. Because I am a one of a kind kinda girl, you get me?”

Blaine grinned. “I get you. It’s nice to meet you both.”

He held out his hand. Both girls shook it, looking flattered.

“It’s nice to meet a _gentleman_ for once,” Unique said. Marley nodded her head in agreement. “So tell us your story, Blaine.”

“Uh . . .”

Fortunately, Blaine was saved by the appearance of what seemed to be most of the remaining members of the club, and the entrance of Finn and the band guys. The girls waved at their friends and Blaine excused himself. First he talked to the band and the man at the piano about his audition song, and then he spoke to the temporary director.

“How are you feeling?” Finn asked.

Blaine forced a smile. Without the distraction of polite chatter, the butterflies had returned. “Nervous,” he replied honestly.

Finn clapped his shoulder and grinned. “You’ll be fine, man. You guys were pretty impressive to be able to tie with us at Sectionals!”

“Then you guys had to go and do original songs,” Blaine laughed.

The room filled up quickly; it wasn’t long before Finn was clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention. “We have a new potential member!” he said, gesturing to Blaine. “This is Blaine. He transferred here from Dalton and we’re glad to have him. And he’s not a spy,” he added, and Blaine’s surprise grew when a few of the members looked relieved, “he’s a legit transfer.”

“I am,” Blaine agreed slowly.

“The ground is yours, Blaine!”

Blaine indicated for the music to start, sank into his performing persona, and waited for his cue. “ _You gotta help me out. It’s all a blur last night. We need a taxi, ’cause you’re hungover and I’m broke._ ”

Marley and Unique were moving in their seats even before Blaine had opened his mouth, and it didn’t take long for everyone else to start dancing as well. “ _Shut up and put your money where your mouth is – that’s what you get for waking up in Vegas_ ,” Blaine sang at the two girls with a wink, and Marley pretended to look offended. He acted out the lyrics, exaggerating his faces, but his smile was genuine.

A couple of the guys sang back up for him at the chorus, and as the song moved into the crescendo so too did Blaine’s heart beat faster and harder. By the final chorus, half the room was out of their chairs and Blaine took Marley’s hand to spin her.

The song ended far too soon. The room burst into applause, and Blaine’s hands were shaking and his breath coming out in short bursts as he bowed. He’d forgotten how thrilling it was to really perform. What could compare to this?

“Welcome to the New Directions, Blaine,” Finn said. Blaine grinned.

* * *

New Directions’ rehearsal was very, very different to the Warblers’. Sectionals was only about month and a half away but Finn, aside from a small reminder that they had to be thinking about it at the beginning of the hour, didn’t mention it. Blaine didn’t really speak, decided to sit back and figure out the dynamics before he would really say anything. He was sure Kurt would tell him if he asked – or Unique or Marley – but he wanted to find out on his own.

When they finished, Blaine was immediately approached by three members he recognized from some of his classes.

“Hello,” said the boy in the wheelchair. “I’m Artie, these are Tina and Sam. As your fellow seniors, we would like to welcome to the club and invite you to join us for lunch tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” Blaine said. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

“You’re Kurt’s Blaine, right?” said the blonde boy – Sam. “You were over this weekend?” Blaine saw Finn looking at them out the corner of his eye and blushed.

“Um.” He cleared his throat. “Yeah, that’s – that’s me.”

Sam grinned and held out his hand for a bro handshake. “It’s awesome to finally meet you, man.”

“So, Blaine.” Tina looped her arm through his, barely waiting for him to stand up before pulling him out the room. Blaine managed to nod goodbye to Finn before he was gone. “Tell us about yourself. What do your parents do? Do you have any siblings? Where are you from? Why did you transfer from Dalton? What do you think of the New Directions?”

“Tina, stop grilling the man,” Artie said.

“It’s okay.” Blaine forced a smile. “Well, it turns out Dalton’s really expensive,” he said, “so we moved here. Is rehearsal always like that?”

“Sometimes it’s worse.” Artie smirked. “Though it’s never as bad as when Rachel graduated.”

“Rachel?”

“Tiny girl, _big_ voice,” Sam said.

“She sang that awesome song a few years ago, right? The original one?”

They talked about the graduated New Directions and the three seniors for the rest of the walk outside. They took the long way round so Artie could use the ramp at the back of the school, where his dad was waiting for him.

“See you tomorrow,” Artie said, waving goodbye to everyone. Blaine walked with Tina and Sam to the parking lot. He was about to ask one of them for a lift to the Hummel garage – probably Sam, because he had a feeling Tina would try interrogating him again if she got him alone – but then he saw Kurt. He was straddling his idle motorbike, fiddling with his phone and occasionally looking at the school entrance.

Blaine’s insides warmed.

“Hey, Kurt!” Sam called, waving his hand over his head. Kurt looked over. He looked surprised, then pleased, and then smiled at Blaine. Blaine smiled back.

“Aw,” Tina cooed. Blaine gently knocked her with his elbow.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” Blaine said.

“Use protection,” Sam said, grinning. Blaine just shook his head and walked off.

As Blaine drew closer, Kurt swung off his bike. He spared a glance to Sam and Tina to wave to them, but otherwise his eyes stayed on Blaine; they were simultaneously warm and piercing, and Blaine couldn’t look away.

“I take it your audition went well,” Kurt said.

“Yeah,” Blaine said, remembering how he felt. “Though everyone else kinda crashed it.”

“They tend to do that,” Kurt said fondly. His half-smile was back again as he cocked his head, but there was something different about it. Nostalgia, maybe. “Anyway, in honor of this momentous occasion, I’m taking you out on a date.”

“It’s a bit early for dinner . . .”

Kurt held out the spare helmet. “I’m sure we’ll find something fun to do in the meantime.”

* * *

They ended up at a playground. Thanks to the cold bite in the air, the park was empty, so they had a full reign. Kurt headed straight to the climbing frame, pulled himself up and then upside down. Blaine laughed and applauded him. “Impressive.”

Kurt flipped the right side up again and dropped back to the ground. “I know,” he said. They messed around on the jungle gym, singing ‘Le Jazz Hot’ and giggling. Blaine showed off on the monkey bars, going back and forth and spinning around on the spot. He had to bend his knees to stop his feet from touching the ground.

During the final few lines, Kurt jumped off the frame and ran over to the carousel. Blaine followed him, smiling widely. On the long note, Kurt struck a pose and Blaine span him round, then jumped on to join him. For the final ‘le jazz hot!’, they leaned towards each other over the bars and sang together, and then Kurt ended the song with a low, dramatic bow while Blaine laughed.

“You really weren’t kidding about your range!” he exclaimed.

“I would never,” Kurt said, smiling widely. Blaine looked around the park and then pulled Kurt into a deep kiss.

They span on the carousel for a while, jumping on and off while it was moving and spinning it as fast as they could manage. (Neither of them admitted it was a competition, but Blaine won anyway. For someone who apparently regularly sped on a motorbike, Kurt was awful at handling dizziness.)

They stumbled to the swing set, huddling in their jackets until the world was no longer tilting. Blaine recovered faster and swung gently until Kurt turned to him with curious eyes.

“Why did it take you so long to join the New Directions? Singing is clearly something that makes you happy.”

Blaine’s swing slowly came to a stop. He looked at Kurt, looked away, looked back; his stomach was rolling for an entirely different reason now. “I didn’t . . . I didn’t have a great summer,” he finally said. Kurt just kept on looking, not rushing him at all. “I didn’t really, um, want to be around other people, just, just get through my senior year and go to college.” He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but couldn’t think of anything else to say. It all seemed too large, too heavy. He didn’t want to put that weight on Kurt too – with his own mother’s death, Kurt had enough.

Eventually, Kurt said, “If you ever wanna talk about it . . .”

Blaine smiled and took his hand. “Thank you.”

They sat for a while in silence. Blaine felt as though the world had stopped turning; the sky was darkening, blue with streaks of orange and pink; there was no noise around them, apart from the creaking of the old swing set and the distance rumble of cars and the wind in the trees. His fingers which were linked with Kurt’s were numb but his palm, pressed against Kurt’s, was warm.

* * *

“Where do you want to go to college?”

The two boys were still on the swings, though they were not both straddling the seat sideways so they could look at each other. It was almost completely dark, the streetlamps lit, but still not so late that Blaine was hungry enough to want to leave. (It probably helped that Kurt had taken a small packet of cookies from his pocket.)

“New York,” Kurt answered without missing a beat. “When we went there for Nationals, I snuck out my room and went exploring and I just knew I belonged there.”

“So – and I don’t mean to upset you but – why are you still in Lima?”

Blaine licked his lips nervously when Kurt tensed, but he relaxed when Kurt did.

“I didn’t get into the school I applied for, NYADA.” Kurt gave him a resigned smile. “I’ve reapplied, of course, and I’ll keep reapplying until I get in. I’ve sent off some applications to other school, but . . .” He trailed off and gave Blaine a tense shrug. “Not for me. And in the meantime, it’s not so bad making some money at my dad’s shop.”

Blaine bit his lip to stop himself from saying, _And there’s me._

The way Kurt looked at him was as if he knew what Blaine was thinking anyway – and as if he agreed.

“What about your college plans? Only one year away.” The corner of Kurt’s mouth turned up.

Blaine sighed. He did need to seriously think about college – it was already October. He was receiving brochures by what seemed like the dozen, but he didn’t know what he wanted at all. Except . . . “Out of Lima,” he said. “I could probably go to college in Columbus, but I want to be somewhere more accepting. When I was a kid, I thought California, but I suppose anywhere that would let me perform. I’d love to be on Broadway one day.”

“Snap.” They smiled at each other.

“I’ve been to New York before, too,” Blaine said, surprising himself. “My – my dad had a business thing, I don’t really remember what, but we all went. Mostly, it was just me and M-Mom being tourists, but my dad was free on the last day. We went to a different performance every night. It was the first time I went to the ballet.”

Blaine stopped. He wanted to keep going – not just about their visit to New York, but about everything. But there was a lump in his throat and leaden guilt in his gut. He stared out over the empty playground, feeling frozen to his core. This was the first time he could remember talking about his parents since he left the hospital. It was more painful than he could have imagined, a barbed band wrapped around his chest. But . . . it was a relief, too. Memories of his parents were barbed, but there was a cooling salve there too.

Kurt squeezed his hand. Blaine’s frozen insides thawed, just a little.

“Sounds like you had fun,” he said.

Blaine smiled. “Yeah.”

* * *

_ your eyes, they shine so bright  
i wanna save that light   _

* * *

The next day, Blaine sat with the New Directions at lunch and either properly met them all or heard a lot about them. Ryder, Jake and Kitty generally ate elsewhere (Blaine got the feeling it had something to do with Marley, by the way she didn’t look up from her plate) but otherwise the club mostly sat at the same table. It took a couple of days for Blaine to start making more than occasional comments, but even when he hardly spoke he still didn’t feel excluded.

Marley was a sweetheart. Unique was a diva in all the best ways. Sugar was a riot, Brittany was a doll, and Joe was the most chilled-out person Blaine had ever met. Still, he felt closest to the three seniors who had introduced themselves to him: Artie, Tina, and Sam. They were all so much fun, which was something Blaine hadn’t realized he’d been missing so much until it was back. He was quickly growing to adore Tina – he hadn’t really had a female friend since he transferred to Dalton – and he connected to Sam in a way he hadn’t since he joined the Warblers.

(Blaine had been thinking of the Warblers a lot over the past week. He didn’t want to talk to most of them still – it wasn’t their fault his parents had driven to pick him up, but he couldn’t help but think about that night and wonder what happened when he saw them. But he missed them. He eased himself into talking with them again by messaging a few of his closest friends on Facebook, and none of them asked him why he hadn’t contacted them for so long or asked him about his parents.)

On days where Kurt had a later shift, Blaine invariably hung out with his new friends: he, Sam and Tina were the core three, often with Artie, sometimes with Brittany, and occasionally with the younger members of the New Directions. They went to the mall a couple of times but it quickly got expensive if they weren’t careful, so most of the time they went to someone’s house. Artie’s and Tina’s parents were generous, and Blaine enjoyed visiting, but Blaine’s favorite was when they were at Sam’s house, because that meant they were at the Hummels’. They were always there for long enough that Kurt came home, and Blaine made him some tea and secretly (so, so secretly) delighted in the domesticity. More often than not, Kurt left them to hang out, either going to his room or going back out, although no one, especially the seniors, who all knew Kurt already, minded when he stayed – much more frequently, however, Blaine forced himself to wait an hour and then left his friends to hang out with Kurt.

But, without a doubt, Blaine’s favorite days were when Kurt had an early shift, or didn’t work at all. They didn’t go on many date-dates – dining and movies got expensive very quickly, Lima community theatre was mediocre (Kurt said that the only thing it was good for was as a drinking game), and Blaine didn’t like letting Kurt pay for everything all the time. He started looking for an afterschool job, but no one was hiring a kid whose only work experience was singing at theme parks.

Mostly, they hung out in Kurt’s bedroom, listening to music, watching TV or a movie, and talking. Sometimes Blaine did his homework while Kurt tailored new clothes, or they read a magazine together.

There was also a lot of making out, and one weekend when Sam was out with Tina and Artie and Mr. Hummel was at the garage, they rubbed against each other until they came. Three days after, with Sam and Brittany right upstairs, they jerked each other off, and it was pretty downhill from there. It was a mutual agreement that they were to never try anything when Kurt’s dad was home, especially since, between Sam and Kurt, Blaine was at the Hummels’ enough to get to know the man quite well. Mr. Hummel – Burt – was kind, friendly, and unexpectedly charming, but he was also very intimidating and Blaine didn’t want to get on his bad side. Ever.

* * *

Two days before Halloween, Kurt had had his shift swapped around, so he was Skyping Mercedes when he heard the front door open and several sets of feet walk in. He didn’t realize he’d started smiling and straightened up his hair and clothes until Mercedes laughed at him.

“Gee, I wonder who just arrived,” she teased, and the same time Sam and Tina both shouted hellos to him.

“Behave,” Kurt warned her, as there was a knock on his doorframe and Blaine called, “Kurt, can I come down?”

“Of course, gorgeous,” he called back. He poked his tongue out when Mercedes laughed again.

“I got my test back today,” Blaine said as he came down the stairs. “I got a ninety-two. I can’t believe Ms. Hamm really uses the same answer code every— oh.” At the bottom of the stairs, he finally noticed that Kurt was on Skype.

Kurt turned round his laptop, ignoring Mercedes shout of, “Hey!” and greeted Blaine with a kiss.

“You look great today,” he murmured, running his fingers under Blaine’s suspenders. Blaine shivered and closed his eyes, and he whispered back, “I don’t know how I feel about your friend listening in.”

“I’m still here, boys,” Mercedes said. “Don’t you dare be having sex right now.”

“Despite what you _both_ may think,” Kurt said, looking pointedly at Blaine as he went back over to his bed to turn his computer back round, “I’m not into voyeurism.”

“You must be Mercedes,” Blaine said, smiling, as he joined Kurt on the bed.

Mercedes waggled her fingers at him. “Hey, boo. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I hope I meet your expectations.”

“Unless you’re _actually_ a demi-god, I doubt it.” Mercedes grinned, and Blaine stifled a laugh. Kurt shoved him. “But I think I’ll like you just fine anyway.”

Kurt let Mercedes and Blaine get to know each other, only running interference when it sounded like Mercedes was going to tell an embarrassing story. Though they were both friends with the current New Directions seniors and Tina definitely knew more than enough sordid tales to embarrass him, Mercedes was one of the few people who wasn’t even the slightest intimidated by him.

Kurt flicked idly through a magazine, but he found himself mostly watching Blaine. His smile took Kurt’s breath away, whether it was the friendly smile he gave to everyone and their dog or one of the smiles he only gave Kurt. (Admittedly, the smile that said ‘you’re so hot and I would like to ravish you’ only took Kurt’s breath away because his blood left his brain so fast.)

He was, admittedly, really fucking nervous about Blaine and Mercedes meeting – his dad had met and liked Blaine when he and Kurt had barely knew each other, so now the only test that mattered was the best friend test. Sure, Kurt had never seen Blaine _un_ able to charm someone, but Mercedes wasn’t a girl who charmed easily.

But it seemed to be going well. They both sounded happy and they were both smiling. As usual, Blaine was being friendly and polite, but not open. If not for the few times when Blaine had let Kurt in, he would never have realized just how closed off he was – oh, his emotions ran close to the surface, but trying to figure out what he was thinking was like trying to figure out what shapes were at the bottom of a dirty pond. Sometimes there was a gap in the algae – that was when Blaine was being vulnerable, talking about something that hurt him; most of the time, all Kurt could see was the green cover and the bob of the water.

Trying to get Blaine to talk about family was like trying to see the pond from several miles away through a thick mist, and facing the wrong direction; Blaine was very good at deflecting. It had taken Kurt a few weeks to realize it was happening, and he was torn between letting Blaine open up in his own time and risk never getting to know Blaine’s deepest, darkest thoughts, and forcing him to open up now and risk pushing Blaine away completely. What was Blaine hiding that he didn’t trust Kurt enough to talk about? Was it something about his family? Was Blaine not out? Or was it that Blaine came out at the beginning of the summer and was kicked out, which could be why Blaine had left Dalton – his parents weren’t paying for it anymore? But then, why would Blaine sometimes hurry them away from his apartment complex?

Kurt was pulled out of his thoughts when Mercedes said, “I’ll let you two boys go now.”

“Nonsense,” Blaine said, shooting Kurt a quick smile. Kurt smiled back. “I was the one who crashed your date. I can wait a while to hang out with Kurt.”

Kurt covered the webcam – Mercedes sighed, “Really, guys?” – and gave Blaine a short kiss. “We should go out later,” he said. “Dinner at Breadstix?”

“Dinner at Breadstix,” Blaine agreed, his soft hands cupping Kurt’s jaw as he gave him another, lingering kiss. “Bye, Mercedes!”

Kurt watched him walk away, knowing Mercedes thought he was looking at his boyfriend’s ass (she was half right – Blaine had a beautifully muscular back underneath those layers, too), and then turned back to the screen. For a moment, they just looked at each, straight-faced. Then Mercedes’ face split into a grin and she said, “Boy, he is _cute_.”

* * *

Blaine knocked on the Hummels’ front door. Kurt had told him that he was more than welcome to just come straight in, but Blaine still felt weird about it. They’d only known each other for a little over a month, been dating a few days less. Maybe if they were together for longer . . .

A short woman dressed up as a cheap but recognizable Morticia Addams opened the door.

“Trick or treat?” he said with a small smile. The woman – who could only be Carole Hudson – laughed.

“You must be Blaine!” she said, beaming, as she opened the door properly to let Blaine inside. “I’m Carole. It’s good to finally meet you, honey, the boys have told me so much about you. Don’t let Burt know you know this but he really likes you.”

“Oh, thank you, Carole.” Blaine smiled at her. “Would you like a spoo-cookie?”

“Well, it certainly sounds interesting.”

Blaine blushed, holding out his Tupperware box. “Sorry, that’s just a silly name I came up with as a kid. They’re just gingerbread cookies decorated like pumpkins.”

“I love gingerbread. Thank you, Blaine. Oh, and I just realized we’ve been standing out in the porch. Come on in, everyone’s just finishing getting ready!”

Blaine followed her through into the living room where the only two waiting were Burt dressed up as Gomez Addams and Finn in a pirate costume. When he saw Blaine looking, he stood up and turned on the spot, grinning. “Good, huh? Mom and Kurt made it for me. I haven’t had a Halloween costume this good in years.”

“Looks great, Finn. Hi, Burt.”

“Evenin’, Blaine,” Burt replied, at the same time that Finn zeroed in on the box in Blaine’s hand and said, “Are those cookies?”

“For Marley’s party,” Blaine said. “Would you like one, Burt?”

“I think Kurt would kill me,” Burt admitted grudgingly. “The kid freak’s out if I eat anything with half a gram of fat in it.”

“Blaine is very health conscious,” Kurt said, coming down the stairs with Sam behind him. “I doubt he’d make anything that would harm you.”

“Then sure, Blaine, I’d love one.”

“ _Kaltx_ _ì_ , Blaine,” Sam said. He was painted blue, wearing hardly anything, and his hair had been braided into several small plaits.

“Hey, Sam,” Blaine said, grinning, and then turned his attention, finally, to Kurt, who was standing in front of him.

“Captain,” Kurt said, utterly straight-faced.

Blaine followed suit, nodding seriously. “Sergeant Barnes.”

Then they smiled, Kurt kissed his cheek, and Carole took at least two dozen photos. “I know there’s a Halloween every year but you all look so good,” she said. Kurt confiscated the camera and then took a dozen of his own of her and Burt.

* * *

_don’t wanna let you down_   
_but i am hell-bound_   
_though this is all for you_   
_don’t wanna hide the truth_

* * *

There were a few things Burt wasn’t expecting when he woke up this morning. He wasn’t expecting to find out more about Blaine’s situation. He wasn’t expecting to want to adopt two more boys into his family.

He certainly wasn’t expecting a grown man in a brown trench coat and reflective sunglasses to come strolling into his shop.

Kurt noticed him first, catching Burt’s attention and then pointing at the man and pulling a face. Burt shook his head – even if the customer was a bit whacko, he was still a customer – and gestured for Kurt to go outside. For a moment, Kurt looked like he was going to argue, but Burt gave him his no-nonsense look. He didn’t pull it out often, but, as always, Kurt actually did as he was told. When the break room door closed, Burt went over to the man in the trench coat.

“Morning,” he greeted. “Can I help you?”

“That remains to be seen,” the man said in a serious undertone. “What can you tell me about Kurt Hummel?”

Burt narrowed his eyes. “I can tell you it ain’t any of your business.”

“No, no, no.” The man pulled off his glasses. “You’re supposed to say, ‘Who’s asking?’ and then I say, ‘That’s top secret, but it’s someone very close to his boyfriend, Blaine Anderson,’ and then you’re supposed to take me to the big boss man’s office so we can talk privately because I’m on a _covert mission_.”

“Right.” So the man wasn’t a customer; only a whacko. “Who the hell are you before I call the police?”

The man sighed. “Cooper Anderson, Blaine’s brother? You may also recognize me from a series of commercials about free credit ratings.”

“Blaine’s never mentioned a brother,” Burt said.

The man’s face fell, and then he closed his eyes and held his hands to chest. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said, “I need a second to remember this emotion.” Burt seriously considered just walking away and calling the police, but then the man opened his eyes. Under his bravado, Burt could see some hurt. Huh. Maybe Blaine did have a brother. “Honestly,” the man – Cooper – said, “what kind of brother doesn’t mention his favorite guardian? Teenagers, am I right?”

Burt was, in a word, confused. “Guardian?”

Cooper frowned – just for a second, and then it was gone again, but it was the kind of involuntary reaction that Burt knew well from his own experience with grief.

“Well, not really. He’s not a minor so he doesn’t get a legal guardian, but he still needs someone to look after him.”

Burt looked at Cooper. There were slight bags under his eyes, an unhealthy paleness to his skin, his bones were too prominent. Burt sighed. “Come on. Let’s go to my office.”

“Ooh, are you the big boss man? Would that make you Kurt’s dad?”

“Yes, to both.” Burt sat, and Cooper followed suit. “Now, I think we need to talk.”

* * *

Blaine heard a ‘happy birthday, little brother!’ before he was even fully awake. He mumbled indistinctly into his pillow and then pushed himself up into sitting position. He was barely upright before Cooper bounced onto his bed and shoved a tray full of cards and presents onto his lap. “Open them, open them, open them!” he chanted. “This one first.”

“Do you realize you’re more excited for my birthday than I am?” Blaine asked, laughing tiredly.

“Oh, I know nineteen’s nothing special, but you’re also one year closer to twenty-one! Man, my twenty-first was such a great day. I got completely smashed. You shouldn’t do it, though. Bad idea.”

“Noted.” Blaine opened the card and struggled to keep his smile up. The front of the card was covered entirely by a massive ’19 Today’ badge: this card could only be from Cooper. “Gosh, thanks, Cooper.”

“Here, allow me.” Cooper took the card from Blaine’s still sleep-weak fingers, unclipped the badge, and attached it to Blaine’s pajamas. “Perfect!”

While Blaine opened the rest of his cards, all containing money, Cooper chattered on. The theme of this ramble seemed to be Blaine’s family in the Philippines: because of the time difference, they wouldn’t be able to Skype today, but they were going to email him later to arrange something for the next weekend.

“Now the present!” Cooper cried. Blaine opened it – carefully, to Cooper’s consternation – and it was _Ukulele for Dummies_. “Uh, I don’t have a ukulele . . .”

“Ah!” Cooper held up a finger, grinning, and then picked up another gift the size of a small instrument carry case from next to Blaine’s bed. “Tada!”

Blaine was much messier opening his second gift and, indeed, it was a ukulele. It was plain and light brown, but there were a half a dozen sheets of stickers inside the case as well.

“I was going to buy you a guitar but then it turned out they were _really_ expensive,” Cooper said. “And they’re all different colors. And there are three different kinds!”

“Coop, thank you,” Blaine said, carefully putting the ukulele and case aside and reaching over to hug his brother.

“Also,” Cooper added when they pulled apart, “I wasn’t sure if I real-sized guitar would be too big for you.”

Blaine laughed and hit Cooper’s arm.

“You’re the perfect size for each other!” Cooper added, laughing as he dodged Blaine’s next hit and danced out the room. “Don’t take too long in the bathroom – breakfast will get cold!”

Blaine mimed as if to throw a pillow at Cooper, and then he turned back to his ukulele. He hadn’t known what to expect from his brother – he didn’t have the best track record when it came to gifts – but this was . . . unexpectedly thoughtful. How expensive were ukuleles? How long had Cooper had to save up?

After breakfast, he almost managed to ‘forget’ his birthday badge, but Cooper chased after him. Blaine thanked him with an exaggeratedly fake smile, and then shoved the badge into the depths of his bag as soon as he was round the corner.

Kurt was picking him up this morning. It had been Kurt’s idea; he’d asked just before Blaine had left the Hummels’ yesterday. It was starting to get ridiculously cold – the temperature had dropped suddenly almost exactly on November the first – so Kurt was waiting inside his car. He smiled as Blaine’s approached, and kissed him until his lips were warm again once the car door had been closed.

“Happy birthday,” he said. “I’m going to give you your present later.” He waggled his eyes suggestively.

“Oh, really?” Blaine raised his eyebrows in return and tried not to be too obvious about how turned on he was.

Kurt just tapped his lips with a wink, and they made out until the windows started to fog with condensation and Blaine was almost late for school.

* * *

Somehow, Blaine managed to get through the day; for long stretches, he even managed to forget about what Kurt had implied. (They’d rubbed off against each other and exchanged hand jobs, but oral was a whole new ballgame.) He focused, for the most part, on his lessons, and in the breaks responded to the birthday wishes that his old friends texted to him or wrote on his wall. His new friends wished him a happy birthday either in class or in glee, depending where they saw him, but up until the last five minutes of glee club, the day was perfectly normal.

“We have a very special guest today,” Finn said, grinning at Blaine. “Come on in!”

And Kurt stepped through the door.

It was surreal, seeing Kurt in the choir room. Blaine knew he’d been here for years, for far longer than Blaine would ever be, and all the seniors were friends with him. Brittany had even, apparently, dated him for a while, but everything Blaine knew of Kurt was Kurt as a grown man. He’d seen pictures of a baby-faced early teen looking like he’d walked straight off a runway, of a slightly older teenager dressed like a James Dean lookalike – he hadn’t noticed this morning, but there was something different about Kurt’s wardrobe today, something tougher. There were an excessive number of spikes on the back of his jacket.

“For those of you who don’t know me,” Kurt said, waggling his fingers at Unique when she squealed his name, “I’m Kurt Hummel. I’m one of the founding members of the New Directions.”

“Do you want a prize?” Kitty said.

Kurt raised an eyebrow and stared her down. “From you? No.” Blaine was suddenly, incredibly aroused.

“Kurt,” Finn said.

Kurt rolled his eyes and then smiled at Blaine. It was his half-smile, which, Blaine realized with a start, he hadn’t actually seen for a while, and there was an uncomfortable, tight quality to it that Blaine was sure was new. “Anyway, this is part one of your present. Hit it!”

The band started the music, but it took Blaine a few measures for him to recognize it as ‘I Get A Kick Out Of You’ from _Anything Goes_. He sucked in a breath and stared, enraptured. He’d heard Kurt singing before, that time in the park and lots of times in his house – but this was _performing_. This was Kurt at the center of everyone’s attention, capturing them with the beauty of his voice. When Blaine sang, he encouraged people to sing along; when Kurt sang, nobody dared. Now more than ever, Blaine understood why there was only one college was good enough for Kurt Hummel.

God, he was so fucked.

When the song ended, there was a moment of silence before everyone burst into applause. Kurt managed to look simultaneously gratified and apathetic, and he gave a simultaneously mocking and sincere curtsey. Blaine had given up trying to figure out how he could present two paradoxical emotions at once; at this point, he was just along for the ride.

Unique, Marley, Finn and the seniors all stayed behind, while the other underclassmen trickled out. Marley and Unique gushed over Kurt for a while, who looked very pleased; the seniors waited their turn; Blaine clung to his seat, and would stay there until he no longer had the urge to throw himself at his boyfriend.

Eventually, it was only Kurt and Blaine left in the room. Finn had to leave last to turn the lights off and close the door, but he had gone into his office. Kurt stood in front of Blaine’s chair, gave him a grin that was easy confidence disguising worry.

“So what did you think?” he asked.

“ _Kurt_.” Blaine choked on ‘I love you’, and threw himself at his boyfriend instead. Oh well.

Holding Kurt’s face, Blaine pulled him into a long, breathless kiss. Kurt grabbed him back, his grip almost bruising around Blaine’s waist, and suddenly he remembered the promise from this morning.

“Please tell me part two of my present is somewhere private,” he said.

“Guys, I’m still here, you know,” Finn called from his office.

“Bye, Finn,” Kurt shouted, linking his fingers with Blaine and waving his other hand at Finn as they ran from the room. Blaine didn’t miss the way Kurt’s eyes darted round in the corridors, but he couldn’t offer much aside from a comforting hand squeeze. Kurt sent him a small smile over his shoulder, though, so he must have appreciated it.

They got into Kurt’s car and strapped themselves in, and then Kurt took Blaine’s hands and pressed them into the tops of Blaine’s legs. “Hands to yourself,” he said. “We’ll be fifteen minutes.”

Seventeen minutes later, Blaine was clambering into the backseat with Kurt following behind him. The burning lust had changed into hot anticipation, and Kurt’s hand trembled as he undid Blaine’s belt.

“Part two,” he said with a grin, and then his mouth was on Blaine’s dick. Blaine’s head was dizzy with desire; he grabbed his shirt, the car seat, his own hair, so he wouldn’t mess up Kurt’s hair. It was so good, with Kurt’s talented tongue on his length and his nimble fingers pushing up Blaine’s shirt and dancing over his skin.

It was over embarrassingly fast. Blaine panted, his face hiding in the crook of his elbow; when he took his arm away, Kurt wiped some come off the corner of his mouth with his thumb and stuck his thumb in his mouth. He did something with his tongue that Blaine had just felt on his own body part, and he groaned and pulled Kurt into a kiss. He was – for some reason – startled by the taste of Kurt’s mouth, but it made him want to suck Kurt off even more.

“Now for part three,” he said. Kurt frowned, confused, but his eyebrows rose and his lips stretched into a grin when Blaine sat up, pulled down Kurt’s briefs, and then leaned down. Kurt didn’t last long either but, god, Buddha, all the deities out there – Blaine loved it, the shape and weight of Kurt in his mouth, the sensation of come in his mouth, the strength of powerlessness of the position.

“God, Blaine,” Kurt groaned as Blaine came up, licking his lips. “I don’t think I can feel my fingers.”

Blaine kissed the backs of Kurt’s fingers, and delighted at the way Kurt watched his mouth.

“What if I just give you part four after the party?”

Blaine stilled. “Party?”

Kurt closed his eyes and dropped his head back with a _thunk_ and another groan, though this one felt entirely different. “Shit.”

* * *

The car idled outside the party venue – just an every-purpose rented hall – and the two boys sat inside, silent. Kurt’s hands were on his lap; Blaine’s arm’s were folded across his chest. The air was tense between them. And Blaine was _not_ pouting.

“I can’t believe he threw me a surprise party,” he fumed. “I hate surprises.”

“You’ve seemed to enjoy my surprises,” Kurt said.

Blaine didn’t look at his boyfriend, and his lips pursed further. “I hate Cooper’s surprises. There hasn’t been a single one that _hasn’t_ been at my expense.” What if there was a bucket of glitter waiting to drop on Blaine when he walked in? That was totally something Cooper would do. Glitter would take forever to wash off. “What if I just run away? I could be in San Francisco by the morning.”

“That’s it.” Kurt hit the steering wheel and turned to face Blaine, eyes blazing. “Blaine Anderson, your _brother_ has put a lot of effort into organizing this for you. If you don’t want to have fun, that’s your prerogative – but today is to _celebrate_ you, not humiliate you!”

Blaine swallowed hard and stared at Kurt. He had a feeling his boyfriend was mad at him, for more reasons that just – fine – because he was sulking, though he couldn’t figure out why. He forced down the urge to ask Kurt what his problem was because, clearly, he wasn’t in the most pleasant mood himself, and he didn’t want to start a fight on his birthday.

Honestly, he was dreading walking in there. He didn’t have a doubt that Cooper had strung up ’19!’ banners, and, as far as he knew, none of his friends knew that’s he’d been held back a year. Most of them barely even knew he had a brother! How many questions would he get about his age and his absent parents? Would Kurt be even angrier with him? And he had still hardly spoken to most of his Dalton friends for more than a few minutes.

He could go in and sulk; go in and at least try to have a good time; or run away.

He worked his jaw, and then breathed the tension out of hos body. It mostly worked.

“Shall we go in then?”

After a moment, Kurt softened, and he smiled. It didn't seem entirely genuine, but Blaine decided he only had the energy for one battle today.

They got out the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs in this chapter:  
> \- 'Firework', by Katy Perry  
> \- 'Le Jazz Hot!', from _Victor/Victoria_  
>  \- 'I Get A Kick Out Of You', from _Anything Goes_


	4. these walls, they're crashing down

**PART 4: THESE WALLS, THEY’RE CRASHING DOWN**

* * *

_below my soul, i feel an engine_   
_collapsing as it sees the pain_   
_if i could only shut it out_

* * *

“Three cheers for the New Directions!” Sugar shouted.  Still high off their Sectionals win, the room enthusiastically cheered. She almost fell off the coffee table and spilled her drink on the carpet.

Blaine was drunk. Well, no – tipsy, definitely, borderline drunk, perhaps, but he still had enough of his wits about him to know that he wasn’t sober. He kinda wanted to dance, but his legs were heavy; whatever was in that punch bowl must have affected him quite a lot.

Tina was _definitely_ drunk. She’d been laughing pretty much constantly since her second drink, and she was giggling now as she collapsed heavily onto the couch next to Blaine, almost on Blaine. “I’m so happy you’re happy,” she slurred, shouting right in Blaine’s ear. “An’ I’m happy Kurt’s happy. You’re like my two clos’st friends. I’m so happy you’re happy together.”

Her head lolled forward onto Blaine’s shoulder and he rested his cheek on her hair. Were he and Kurt happy together? They’d hardly spoken since Blaine’s birthday four days ago. Their texts had been shorter, they’d only spoken on the phone once, and Blaine had had rehearsal every day after school. It had paid off, the New Directions were through to Regionals, but he missed Kurt.

“You shoul’ to’lly join in,” Tina said, waving her hand generally in the direction of Sam, who had lost his shirt an hour ago and was currently doing body rolls. Blaine shamelessly stared for a moment – he had eyes, okay, and Sam was _hot_ , and Blaine _missed_ Kurt and it had only been four days.

“I don’t think I can move my hips like that,” he said.

“Liar.” Tina jabbed him in the ribs. Blaine squirmed away from her, whining, and she kept poking him. She burst into a fresh set of giggles.

“Mercy, mercy!” he begged, trying to bat her hands away. She only stopped when he wriggled right off the couch and landed on the floor. An upbeat electronic song came on, giving Blaine new energy, so he scrambled clumsily to his feet, and then dragged Tina away. “Dance with me!” he shouted. The dancing got dirtier; they didn’t stop being silly and Blaine still wasn’t attracted to girls, but the proximity of her body and the movements of their dancing were starting to turn him on.

Unique took to the coffee table, one of her eyelashes missing and her wig at an angle. “It’s time to get our lips up on other peoples’ lips,” she shouted. “Seven minutes in heaven!”

”Whoo!” Tina threw her hands up in the air, and everyone else seemed to agree.

Blaine shook his head, shouting into Tina’s ear as the others began to form a circle and someone went to hunt down an empty bottle, “I think that’s my cue to go.”

“Aw, no, Bling-Bling!” Tina pouted. “You don’t have to go jus’ ‘cause of being dating.”

It took a few moments for Blaine’s intoxicated brain to parse her meaning, and he shook his head again. “That’s not why,” he said, “I said I’d be home tonight anyway.” He kissed her cheek, and then went to find Sugar. She had much the same reaction as Tina, and Blaine grinned. “I guess I must be getting boring in my old age.”

“You’re still handsome to me,” Sugar exclaimed, and gave Blaine a smacking kiss on his lips. “See you later, hottie!”

Soon after, Blaine managed to leave. A chorus of scandalized hoots and laughter followed him to the cloakroom where Blaine put on his jacket and shoes, but once he was outside, he couldn’t hear anything at all. In his coat and with alcohol in his veins, Blaine was warm, but his breath misted in front of him like dragon’s breath. He puffed out forcefully and was intoxicated enough to find great amusement in pretending to be a dragon for a few moments. He took out his phone to call Cooper and ask for a lift home.

And he stilled. There was a whisper of something significant, a shadow of déjà vu at the back of his mind. It held the promise of something bad. Blaine frowned down at his phone, trying to figure it out. The clearer it became, the sicker Blaine felt, and he was about to turn away from it when it burst into the light, and Blaine’s legs gave out underneath him.

He landed heavily on the stone floor, but he hardly noticed. His stomach rolled and his entire body shook, and tears and panic strangled his lungs.

This was how his parents had died – picking him, drunk, up from a party. He couldn’t do the same to Cooper.

Eventually, Blaine managed to get his feet under him again, and he started the long walk home.

* * *

_i'm the colourless sunrise that's never good enough_   
_i'm the wind that's in your hair that ruffles you up_   
_if you can find a reason, you can let me know_   
_i won't blame you, i'll just turn and go_

* * *

**1.57 a.m.**

Nothing seemed wrong until Cooper lay in bed. It was about his usual bedtime and he’d just turned off his light and pulled over the covers, and then it struck him that he hadn’t heard anything from Blaine. Well, it might not have been all bad. What had Blaine said when he left earlier? ‘See you later’? Or ‘see you tonight’? Or maybe Blaine had come home while Cooper was in the shower and just been extraordinarily quiet in his room all night?

Cooper switched his light back on. After he stopped squinting, he picked up phone – no messages, either text or voicemail. He sent Blaine a text: _You need a ride home before I go to bed?_ Then he hauled himself upright, and played Candy Crush until he ran out of lives.

Still no messages.

He was sure Blaine would text him back soon.

 

**2.46 a.m.**

Cooper regretted making himself some hot chocolate. It had been something to do with his hands to keep himself awake for when Blaine texted back asking – possibly drunkenly, though it wasn’t Cooper’s place to judge – but, after forty-five minutes, there was still no response.

He dialed Blaine’s number for the second time.

“ _This is Blaine Anderson. I can’t come to the phone right now but if it’s important, leave a message and I’ll get back to you!_ ”

“Hey, Blaine, it’s Cooper,” he said. He kept his tone light, like he was just checking that they were still on for breakfast tomorrow. “I’m about to go to bed so I wanna make sure you’re not gonna be waking me up in half an hour trying to get a ride home. Call a cab! But shoot me a text first whenever you get this.”

 

**4.39 a.m.**

Cooper dumped his salty hot cocoa, cup and all, in the kitchen sink. Some of it spilled out onto the counter and slowly began to drip onto the floor. _Plop_ – _plop_ – _plop_ – a quarter of the speed of Cooper’s pulse.

He’d lost track of the number of texts he’d sent around number seven, which was, incidentally, when his cool demeanor began to slip.

Should he start calling hospitals? Except – no, he refused to believe anything bad had happened. He was an optimistic guy, this should be no problem. Maybe Blaine’s phone had died. Maybe he’d fallen asleep and his phone was on silent. Maybe he was too busy having sex with Kurt to pay attention to his killjoy brother. Where even was he tonight? Cooper had taken him out to celebrate the Sectionals win, but he’d left almost as soon as the bill had arrived. But he’d said something about . . . a sugar party? What even was that? Oh god, was Blaine at a crack party? Was his little brother a junkie, and possibly high or worse?

 

**5.02 a.m.**

Cooper flushed the toilet, brushed his teeth, and gargled mouthwash until it was all he could taste.

 

**6.10 a.m.**

There were three hospitals in Lima.

After leaving Blaine yet another voicemail – he’d lost count of those, too, not knowing how many times he’d listened to Blaine’s voice all the way through and how many times just ‘this is’ made him feel sick all over again – he called each hospital. He’d written their numbers down hours ago, thrown the piece of paper in the trash and dug it out again over and over again.

One receptionist said to him kindly, “I’m sorry, sir, but we still don’t have any patients matching your brother’s description. We’ll call if we do, but for now, you should sleep.”

Cooper wrote down the police’s number, but wouldn’t call it just yet.

 

**7.00 a.m.**

His phone alarm started buzzing, almost making him fall out of his seat in alarm. His elbow hits the corner of the kitchen table, and he absentmindedly rubs it as he turns the alarm off. Why did he have an alarm set on a Sunday? Why, why, why, why?

Audition. Cleveland. 2 o’ clock. Shit.

He seriously considered – just for a moment – going anyway, because if Blaine was going to be irresponsible then Cooper didn’t have to deal with it. But just for a moment, and then he called the casting director to let her know he wasn’t going.

He was getting really sick of that fucking beep.

 

**8.23 a.m.**

His scalp was sore from how much he’d run his fingers through his hair, and he was wired with adrenalin and more coffee than he’d ever drunk in one day. Thank god for whoever invented Siri, because it meant he could keep his phone against his ear and command his phone to redail. It was one of those literary definitions of insanity.

“ _This is Blai—_ ”

“Fuck!”

He almost threw his phone across the room; he settled for a couch cushion. He waited for his heart to go back to its caffeine-heightened speed – and for the room to stop spinning – and then he said into his phone, “Call Burt Hummel.”

It was only after the phone began to ring that Cooper was struck by the thought that maybe he would wake the man up. Whoops.

The ringing cut out. “Burt Hummel.”

“Hey, Burt, it’s Cooper!” Damn, he was really good at this voice control thing. When he got back to LA, everyone was gonna beg him to star in their movie. “Blaine didn’t come home last night – he was at a party, right?”

“Probably still at that girl Sugar’s house,” Burt said. “Sam said he was going back to Kentucky after but I imagine they’re both still there. Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course! Why wouldn’t it be? Their friend is called Sugar!”

“Uh, yeah.” Burt didn’t sound convinced, so Cooper quickly made his excuses and hung up. Then he sank onto the couch in relief.

He was clearly a terrible big brother for not knowing who his brother’s friends were, but thank fucking god that Blaine wasn’t at a crack party.

He stared at his phone and willed it to ring.

 

**9.59 a.m.**

Cooper was _pissed off_. He’d never been so angry in his life, except for possibly when he wasn’t allowed to audition for _The Mickey Mouse Club_. Except, no, even more angry than that. Sure, Blaine was legally allowed to live alone, and sure, Cooper didn’t have any right to know his whereabouts except as a concerned brother – but damn it, Cooper was going to _kill him_.

He almost left the house in just his boxers and Blaine’s bathrobe, made sure not to forget his keys, and then ran the entire way to the car. He was a little out of breath, and his ankle twinged from landing on it funny when he’d taken the steps three at a time.

Blaine’s car was in its usual spot next to Cooper’s. Cooper gave it a cursory glance as he unlocked his own car – and then he did a double take. Because there Blaine was, asleep and curled up in the backseat and perfectly, wonderfully safe.

Cooper’s first reaction was relief so palpable it seized his chest and brought tears to his eyes. His second reaction was searing, white hot fury.

“BLAINE,” he yelled, sliding ungracefully over the hood of his car to pound against one of Blaine’s windows. His skin stung from where he hit the glass, but the pain barely registered.

Blaine startled awake, cradled his head, and then blinked groggily up at Cooper. After a few moments, he finally seemed to wake up, and his eyes shifted away guiltily. He looked terrible, sleep-rumpled and red eyed, as he sluggishly got himself together enough to reach into the front seat to unlock the car. Cooper glared at him, determined to be entirely sympathetic after the night he’d had – he hadn’t even had a fucking nap. When Blaine moved away from the lock, Cooper wrenched open the backseat door.

“Where the _fuck_ were you last night?!”

Blaine groaned, clutching his head again. “Quieter, Coop, oh my god.”

Cooper grimaced. “Christ, Blaine you smell like a bar. How much did you drink?”

“Enough, clearly,” Blaine muttered into his hand.

“Stop being such a brat. Did you drive home?”

Blaine dropped his hand and glared at Cooper. Some part of Cooper realized he’d fucked up; the rest of him didn’t care. “Fuck off, Cooper.”

“Oh, real mature, _squirt_. You couldn’t even give me a courtesy call?” He grabbed Blaine’s phone from the floor of the car and shoved it into Blaine’s chest. “I haven’t slept all night – what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I didn’t ask you to look after me, _Cooper_ ,” Blaine snapped, surging forward. For a second, Cooper actually thought that Blaine was going to hit him. “I don’t want you here and it’s so obvious you don’t want to be here either, so just fuck off back to LA again and we can both move on.”

“You don’t want me around? Fine. Then move out.”

He slammed the door shut. There wasn’t much space, so it closed with a quiet, unsatisfying click.

Back in the apartment, he collapsed before he even finished closing the door.

* * *

_well, these days i’m fine –_   
_no, these days i tend to lie_

* * *

William McKinley High School was smaller than his first school, and bigger than Dalton. It had the exposed gray concrete, sharp corners and large windows that were standard of schools built in the 60s, and, to Blaine, it was suitably intimidating.

Blaine had only been out of his casts for just over two weeks. He’d been advised not to pressure his leg too much or too fast; it was a bit sore, but otherwise, he considered driving short distances a relatively safe thing to do. This was the first time he’d gone anywhere that wasn’t the hospital or the new apartment. In his own way, Cooper had expressed concern about Blaine’s mental health and driving, but Blaine wasn’t any more nervous in a car than he had been when he’d first learned to drive. (He would never say anything, especially not to Cooper, but he suspected he would be a lot worse if he actually remembered anything about the accident.)

(And between this and being bashed, he was really fed up of losing days.)

He wouldn’t have had much of a choice about driving himself anyway, because cabs were expensive and Cooper had flown back to LA to ‘sort out a few things’. Blaine didn’t know when he’d be back.

As he sat in the parking lot, looking up at the gray, heartless building, Blaine felt something stirring in his chest for the first time in months, though he couldn’t tell whether it was a phoenix being reborn or just wind agitating his ashen heart. He was supposed to be meeting the principal and the guidance counselor in three minutes, but his body wouldn’t move.

The moment he stepped out of the car, he knew, that was it: the first step towards the rest of his life as an orphan.

* * *

_congratulations, you are all alone_  

* * *

Blaine drove on autopilot, and only realized ten minutes away that he was en route to Kurt’s house. He almost pulled over, almost turned around and headed to Tina’s or Artie’s or Marley’s house – would Kurt’s annoyance grate Blaine’s already raw edges, or would his comfort sooth them? – but the need to fall into Kurt’s arms and let himself be held was overwhelming. He parked outside Kurt’s house only a little haphazardly, and, in the few minutes it took Kurt to answer the door, Blaine’s hands were still shaking.

“Blaine.” Kurt’s tone and body language was painfully indifferent. Blaine would be getting no comfort. His frustration welled up again – he’d just been yelled at by Cooper and possibly kicked out, his body was sore and stiff, his head and feet were killing him, and he’d had a _really_ crappy year. If Kurt wanted to fight . . .

“Why have you been avoiding me?” he demanded. Kurt, somehow, closed off even more.

“Have I?” he asked coolly.

“Cut the crap, Kurt, I want an honest answer.”

Kurt narrowed his eyes, hardened the shape of his body. He was stone and Blaine had never been so far from someone while being so close. “And who just are _you_ , Blaine? The quiet, charming guy who needed his car fixed? The excitable guy who can talk for hours about music, comic books and politics? Or the guy who doesn’t tell his friends anything real?”

“That doesn’t even make any sense.” Blaine’s head throbbed. “And if I haven’t talked about something, it’s for a reason.”

“Oh, really? Because I feel like I hardly know you sometimes. Have _you_ ever even been honest with _me_?”

“Of course I have! I’ve never _not_ been honest with you!” Blaine threw his hands up in frustration. “What, were you expecting my entire life story? ‘Hey, I just met you, this is crazy, here’s my tragic life story’?”

“You’re nineteen! That’s pretty fundamental shit! I told you about my mom but I didn’t even know how old you are? Do your parents even know you’re gay?”

Kurt kept talking, hurling accusations, but to Blaine they suddenly seemed so far away. Kurt’s lips moved but the world was quiet. Blaine’s heart was on the floor; his vision blurred. That Kurt would bring his parents into this . . .

Kurt seemed to realize he’d gone too far: he stopped talking, his lips pressed together the only crack in his blank expression.

Blaine opened his mouth, but his tongue was too heavy. Was that what Kurt thought of him? A closeted coward, a liar, a fraud?

“Fuck you, Kurt Hummel.”

He turned around and walked back to the car; he could’ve been drifting, but every time his foot hit the sidewalk it reverberated up his body.

Kurt didn’t call after him. Blaine didn’t look back.

The front door closed, and Blaine’s heart was lost to him forever.


	5. time to build

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit of Tagalog at the beginning of this chapter - if I've got it wrong, please let me know!

**PART 5: TIME TO BUILD**

* * *

_i see my breath pushing steam through the air_   
_shaking hands run through my hair_   
_my fears_   
_where do i go from here?_

* * *

The fence was small and unintimidating, half stone wall and half metal railing. On the other side, there was a church, and behind the church, a sizeable graveyard. Somewhere in there, Blaine’s parents were buried.

For some time, Blaine sat across the street in a café. It was an awful day – cold, gray, with a light drizzle – so there were only two other customers. One was a student, alternately writing on her laptop and flipping through the small pile of books beside her, at the very back corner; the other was an old woman, sitting in a booth along the wall and looking peaceably round the shop. Blaine was by the window, staring at the graveyard.

Eventually, his coffee went cold, and he didn’t have the money to buy another. There was no more stalling.

The gate was open, and as Blaine walked round the church and looked for his parents’ names, he wondered why he was here. He hadn’t believed in God in years. Perhaps there was another kind of afterlife, but Blaine doubted that too. All that was left of his parents was decaying six feet under a granite slab.

And then there they were. _Here lies Maria Anderson, loving mother. Here lies Michael Anderson, caring father. They Will Be Missed. Sumal_ _á_ _ngit Naw_ _â_ _._ He traced the words with his finger, thought of the rosary on his bedside table. He had never felt so disconnected.

What was to stop him from driving on? He was already two hours from Lima. He could get back in his car, keep going until he hit the state line, until he hit New York. Without his parents, without Cooper, without Kurt – he had no roots in Ohio anymore. New York was a whole world of opportunities.

He dug his phone from his pocket to . . . well, he wasn’t sure. He had a vague notion of contacting Sam – to talk to someone before leaving? – but his phone was dead. Was this a sign? And was it telling him to just go, or to stay?

He sank to his knees in front his of parents’ shared headstone and splayed his hand between their epitaphs. His heart trembled; he wanted so badly to curl up between his parents like a young child after a nightmare. But this was the nightmare, and he would never wake up from it. He tried to speak, but what was the point? No one would hear him.

His only family left: Cooper; his father’s parents; his mother’s mother, siblings, nieces and nephews. With his parents’ funeral, the number of times he’d met his Filipino family had doubled, and his paternal grandparents had been distant since he’d come out.

If he went, what family would Cooper have left? He had never known his birth parents, and Blaine didn’t know how close he was to their family.

And if he stayed? They hadn’t been close since Blaine was a child, and he was sure that, after he graduated, they would have gone their separate ways anyway. Gone to their opposite coasts. Or perhaps Cooper would run back to California before the year was out – with how many trips around the state he took, Blaine knew he was getting bored in Ohio. Or perhaps Cooper was already packing Blaine’s things.

There was no easy choice. He could return and face the consequences, even if everything was different for the worse, or he could run away and never know. And Blaine was tired of being a coward.

Blaine pressed a kiss to his fingers then his fingers to the headstone, wiped away his tears with a handkerchief, and, with one final look at the grave, returned to his car.

* * *

_i'm sorry, brother_   
_i'm sorry i let you down_

* * *

Cooper awoke to a voicemail telling him that his parents were dead and his brother was in critical condition. It was thirty-one hours before he boarded a place back to Ohio. He went from the airport straight to his parents’ lawyer’s office. He was exhausted and his head was spinning from all the legal jargon, but he had dozens of pages of notes and questions and answers.

He checked into the same hotel that his grandparents were staying at and then went with them to the funeral home. Throughout the day, they were cordial towards him but kept their grief to themselves. Cooper followed suit. He’d never really felt like their grandson; they doted on Blaine when he was a kid, their only grandchild by blood, and Cooper’s only memories thereafter were stained with intense envy.

His grandparents went back to the hotel. Cooper went to the hospital. Visiting hours were over, but a nurse took pity on him and paged Blaine’s doctor. The details of the accident and Blaine’s injuries made him feel sick, but he dutifully took more notes. Blaine was stable after the surgery, with no signs of internal trauma or brain damage, and they were positive about him making a full recovery.

The doctor asked Cooper if he wanted to see his brother. In a moment of irrational panic, he declined. Then he asked, Would Blaine be able to attend their parents’ funeral? The doctor said that, with arrangements, there was no reason he wouldn’t be able to temporarily leave the hospital if he needed to. Cooper thought of his mom’s family, who could only be in the States for another week at most, thanked the doctor, and left.

For the next two days, Cooper didn’t sleep. He helped his father's parents organise the funeral; he met his mother's family as they arrived, and made sure they were settled; he helped his mother's parents organise the wake; he went to the hospital, stayed updated on his brother's condition, and sat outside his brother's room. He fought his grandparents on moving Blaine to Florida to live with them. "We can't move back to Ohio, Cooper," they said. But Blaine had already lost his parents, and Cooper wouldn't let him lose his friends, too. Two days later, he had a job and a list of potential apartments in Lima. It wasn't Westerville, but it was still Ohio.

The first time he saw Blaine was the day of the funeral. He was tiny. His body curled over on itself in the wheelchair, favouring the left side - because of the broken pelvis, Cooper knew, and felt no less sick for it. His entire right leg was in a cast, and his skin was littered with bruises.

Cooper tried not to panic at the confusion in Blaine's eyes; his brother had always reacted to pain medication. Would Blaine remember their parents' funeral? If he didn't, would it be a relief or a tragedy? It was almost unbearable to think about.

But his only other avenue of thought was this: my parents are dead, and I'm watching them being buried. My brother is still in high school, and he's an orphan. My grandparents are burying their children.

Cooper wasn't particularly religious. He didn't even think about it, really. He'd been taken to church as a child but it had never had a great effect on him. But watching his parents' coffins disappear, he found comfort in the thought of an afterlife.

Afterwards, though, he was just empty. The attendees began to drift away, alone or in small groups. Cooper stayed with Blaine, a hand resting feather-light on his shoulder, scared of breaking his brother more. He took Blaine back to the hospital and then . . . stayed. How could he leave Blaine now?

When they were alone and Blaine had fallen back to sleep, Cooper pressed a careful kiss to his forehead and whispered, "I'll look after you, little brother. I promise."

* * *

_i don’t know anything but you know me_   
_oh, you know me_   
_it’s all that we’ve got, it’s all that we can give_   
_believe it or not, it’s all that we can give_   
_and i don’t mind_

* * *

The apartment was quiet when Blaine finally got home. For a moment, he was terrified that he was truly alone – but then he saw Cooper on the couch, face hidden in his hands. Blaine closed the door, but didn’t move forward. Couldn’t move forward.

Then Cooper raised his head. His cheeks were damp, his eyes red. “I’m so sorry, Blaine,” he croaked, and Blaine finally stumbled forward and fell into his big brother’s arms, hugging him fiercely close.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Coop,” he whispered. “I am.”

They didn’t hug for long. Cooper went to the kitchen to make them some sandwiches and hot cocoa, and he sent Blaine to shower. “You smell like a bar,” he said with a small grin. Blaine pushed him good-naturedly, and after the shower put on a Henley he’d borrowed the last time he showered there. (He’d ‘accidentally’ forgotten a change of clothes, and he ached now at the thought that once he returned it, he’d probably never see Kurt again.) When he came out his room, Cooper’s face was scrubbed free of tears too.

“I think we have a lot to talk about,” Cooper said, handing Blaine a mug and a plate. Blaine nodded. “I haven’t been the best brother to you.”

Blaine opened his mouth to object, but Cooper shook his head and held up a hand.

“Just listen,” he said. “I don’t have to be here, it’s true. Gran and Granddad were gonna take you to Florida, or I could’ve set you up and gone back to LA once you were on your feet again. But I want to be here. You’re not a baby but you’re still my baby brother, you know? I stayed to look after you, and I haven’t done a very good job.”

Blaine stared. This was . . . the most honest Cooper had ever been with him. There was no posturing, no dramatics; only sincerity. Could their relationship actually be fixed? It was a dizzying – but wonderful – thought.

“Can I speak now?” he said. Cooper gestured, and Blaine turned to face him completely. “I don’t need looking after, Coop. Before – before Mom and Dad died, I still had to do a lot of stuff myself. I don’t need you to be my parents – I just need you to be my brother.”

“We’re more than that, aren’t we? We can be friends, too?”

Emotion caught in Blaine’s throat. “I’d really like that,” he said. Cooper grinned back and leaned forward to give Blaine another hug.

“One last thing,” Cooper said. “Tomorrow, I’m gonna find a grief counselor, for both of us. I think we’re long overdue.”

“Can we afford it?”

Cooper ruffled Blaine’s hair. “Don’t you worry about money, squirt!” he said cheerfully. “Just focus on school. I’ll just have to stop auditioning for a while, get a proper job.”

Blaine grinned. “ You’re gonna _stop auditioning_? Has hell frozen over?”

Cooper shoved him. “I think I preferred you grumpy.”

They spent the rest of the night watching movies and eating popcorn. Cooper insisted on the _Harry Potter_ movies (“Since we never got to marathon them as kids!”) and Blaine didn’t care on what they put on.

He fell asleep near the beginning of the second movie, his crappy night’s sleep and the emotional rollercoaster of the day finally catching up with him, and awoke some unknown time later in a dark room. There was a pillow under his head, a blanket over his body, and his feet were up on the couch. Cooper was similarly positioned, but on the floor.

It took him a moment to realize why he’d woken up, and then he sleepily groped his way to the bathroom. The light almost blinded him, and he peeked through his eyelashes as he did his business. When he came back out, Cooper was sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“Sorry,” Blaine said in a low voice, “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“S’cool,” Cooper said sleepily, and they were both silent as Blaine settled back on the couch.

But Blaine couldn’t fall back to sleep. He’d seen the Henley in the bathroom mirror and remembered about Kurt – more specifically, he remembered their fight. It had only happened mere hours ago, and yet it felt like an age. And he had no idea if he could fix it.

“Coop?” he whispered into the darkness. “You still awake?”

“Mhm.”

“I think I messed up. With Kurt.”

There was silence from Cooper. Blaine began to think his brother had fallen asleep again, but then he said, “I think we’re gonna need some more cocoa for this,” and, leaving all the lights off, got up and went to the kitchen. When he came back, Blaine cupped the mug in his hands and looked down to avoid the glint of Cooper’s eyes. “So what happened?”

“I wasn’t honest with him. I didn’t tell him about, about you, or our parents, or, uh, why I went to Dalton.”

“So that’s why you were so pissed about your birthday party, huh?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Cooper nudged Blaine with his foot. “Water under the bridge, man.”

Blaine liked this Cooper, the only who listened and waited for Blaine to talk in his own time. He wasn’t expecting it to last, and he hoped they could really figure out how to be friends – but for now? It was more than Blaine had ever hoped for and exactly what he needed.

“I went over to his straight after our fight yesterday,” he continued. “It was . . . stupid. He was already annoyed with me for keeping secrets, and then I accused him of avoiding me and he just, I guess, flung all that at me. I argued back but he mentioned – he asked me if I’d been kicked out, or something, I don’t really remember. I just . . .” He ran his thumb over the mug handle, giving himself time to stabilize his emotions. “I don’t know what to do,” he finished plaintively.

“It’s a toughie,” Cooper agreed. “You were both pretty assholeish.”

“Hey.”

“Calling it like I see it. Besides, I’m probably the king of assholes.”

Blaine snorted, and then he laughed, and then he couldn’t stop. Cooper only made it worse, asking, “What? What did I say?” but, eventually, Blaine got his breath back, and he wiped the tears of hysterical mirth from his eyes.

“Well, I’m glad I made you laugh,” Cooper said, baffled.

“Don’t worry about it.” Blaine grinned. Slowly, the smile faded, but some of the lightness remained even as he asked, “So should I apologize? Or should I wait for Kurt?”

“I think, if you really like him, you should man up and apologize first.” Like him? Blaine was pretty sure he loved him. “Just make sure you’ve made up by Thursday – we’ve been invited to the Hummel-Hudson for Thanksgiving and I don’t think either of us want to see the kind of turkey dinner I’d come up with.”

“What the hell?” Blaine shoved Cooper, and he laughed when Cooper yelped, “Watch the cocoa!” “When did you meet Burt? Or Carole?”

“Magic,” Cooper deadpanned, and he wouldn’t tell Blaine the truth no matter how much he cajoled him.

When their cocoas were gone, they put them on the coffee table and went back to their makeshift beds. Blaine felt . . . light. It was different to the thrill of being with Kurt or the thrill of performing – they were incredible, for sure – but for the first time in half a year, and despite not knowing what the future of his and Kurt’s relationship was, he felt like he could really be okay.

Tomorrow, after school, he would skip glee club and go to Kurt’s house. He would apologize and then . . . whatever happened, happened.

“Thanks, Coop,” he murmured, half into the pillow.

“Sleep well, Blaine.”

And, smiling, Blaine fell back to sleep.

* * *

The driveway was empty. Blaine bit his lip – should he wait for Kurt now, or come back later? (If he left, _could_ he come back later?) It was freezing outside, but every moment he stayed in the car the urge to drive away grew. Eventually, he sucked it up, put on his coat and hat, and exited the car. He sat on the doorstep, suffering the cold, hard ground, and shoved his hands in his pockets.

He hoped Kurt would be the first person to arrive home, otherwise he would probably have a lot of explaining to do.

Luck was in his favor: he was starting to get hungry when he saw Kurt’s car approaching. He stood.

Kurt parked, and he drew nearer to Blaine, well, warily was the only word for it. His emotions were muted in his face, but they weren’t hidden. Maybe – Blaine felt a flare of hope – maybe this _wasn’t_ broken forever.

“I came to apologize,” he said, before Kurt was even close to him, “and to explain myself.”

Kurt blinked at him, and his mouth dropped a little in surprise. He studied Blaine’s face for several long moments, and then he asked, “Do you want to come inside?”

“O-okay.”

The air between them was awkward, more than it had ever been, as they removed their coats and shoes. Blaine declined the offers of food or drink, but seeing Kurt’s nervousness, so at odds with his tough exterior, put something in Blaine’s chest at ease. They settled on the couch, bodies facing each other.

After a moment, Kurt said, “I was an ass.”

“So was I,” Blaine said.

“Not really.” Kurt gave him a lopsided, shameful smile, and, yes, Blaine was definitely in love with him. “My dad heard us arguing and we ended up talking . . . You had – have – every right to your own secrets. I was hurt but I had no right to speak to you that way.”

He reached forward, grasping Blaine’s hands with his own shaking ones. Blaine’s heart trembled with emotion. “I am truly sorry,” Kurt said thickly. “I’ll understand if you want to break up with me, but please understand you are so precious to me, Blaine.”

Blaine gave him a watery smile, wanting so badly to tip forward and kiss him – but not yet. He was here for a reason. “That’s why I want to tell you,” he said, and then, because there was no better moment to bear his soul, “because I love you.”

Kurt gasped faintly. His eyebrows shot up, his hands tightened reflexively around Blaine’s. “I love you too,” he said. And if Blaine had been light last night, there were no words for how he felt right now. If it weren’t for Kurt’s hands grounding him, he could very well have been floating halfway to the ceiling.

They migrated closer to each other, but still didn’t kiss.

“You still don’t owe me anything,” Kurt whispered.

Blaine squeezed his hands reassuringly. He’d been rehearsing his story in head all day, but the telling required a detachment that he was nowhere near capable of producing right now. There was nothing else for it but to jump right in.

“I had to repeat my freshman year at Dalton,” he said, “because I went to a school dance with another boy and some guys beat the crap out of me.”

“Oh, Blaine.” His voice was soft, and a little guilty.

Blaine smiled, but there was no humor in it at all. That wasn’t even the worst part. He took a deep breath, finding courage in the warmth of Kurt’s hands. “At the beginning of the summer, my parents d-died. They were picking me up from a party . . .”

His voice began tremulous and never quite gained steadiness. Kurt listened, eyes glistening, as Blaine told him about the summer, about Cooper, about moving to McKinley, about his and Cooper’s long overdue reconciliation. And, eventually, about his parents while they were alive. They were little anecdotes that he remembered as they came to his head, in no order – and it hurt, worse than a wound being reopened, it was like someone had taken a knife and was making wounds anew. But Kurt was there, crying and laughing with him, and, when Blaine finally fell silent, kissing him.

Blaine felt his heart beating in his chest, more present than it had been in months. He’d had glimpses of this feeling ever since he’d met Kurt, brief moments of light in the darkness that had clung to Blaine like his very own shroud. Now the shroud had fallen away, and Blaine felt . . . alive.

Kurt pulled back, but there were no words left for this moment. With a gentle, impish smile, Kurt stood up, pulling Blaine with him. They kissed again, a short kiss full of intent, and then went down to Kurt’s bedroom, and they shut the door behind them.


	6. epilogue

**EPILOGUE: INTO THE SPOTLIGHT**

* * *

_i’m on top of the world, ay_   
_i’m not top of the world, ay_   
_been waiting on this for a while now_   
_paying my dues to the dirt_   
_been holding it in for a while, ay_   
_take you with me if i can_   
_been dreaming of this since a child_

* * *

“Is that everything?” Blaine called over the road as Cooper came out the apartment building carrying a medium-sized box labeled ‘shoes’.

“Triple-checked, and yep,” Cooper replied. He handed the box to Blaine, who squeezed the box between ‘music’ and ‘accessories’. “Tell me, Blaine, are you planning on using your roommate’s closet as well?”

“You’re a riot,” Blaine said dryly.

“I’m just saying.” Cooper held up his hands, grinning. “Are you sure it’s all gonna fit in your tiny little dorm?”

“Are you sure you’re gonna be able to do all your own washing?” Blaine fired back. “I’m sure Carole would do it if you asked nicely.”

“Ooh, big mistake, little brother – your music privileges have been _revoked_!”

“Oh, come on. And stop pointing at me!”

Their bickering was interrupted by the Hummels’ truck pulling up behind them. Burt waved, and Kurt was half out the car before the engine had even turned off. He was dressed down for the journey – loose jeans with artful rips down the thighs, a studded belt, chains, and only two top layers. More important, and more alluring, was the wide grin on his face and the excitement in his voice.

“Hey, honey,” he said, pecking Blaine’s cheek. “You ready to go?”

“I think so.” He looked to Cooper, who was now chatting to Burt. They both had out their maps and the various printouts.

“I can’t believe this is finally happening,” Kurt said breathlessly, his eyes twinkling. Blaine’s smile was automatic.

“You’re adorable,” he said.

“Damn, I can’t have that.”

Blaine intended to ask what he meant, but then Kurt pulled him into a kiss that was not at all parent-appropriate and intensely hot.

“Hey, you two, quit with the tonsil hockey!” Cooper said, throwing the snack bag at Blaine’s head. Blaine pulled away, blushing what felt like everywhere. “You’ll have plenty of time to do that _after_ we’ve left you in New York.”

Burt raised his eyebrows. “There are things a father doesn’t need to know,” he said.

“I’ll see you in a couple of hours,” Kurt said as the two guardians went to their respective driving seats.

“Love you,” Blaine said.

“You too.”

Cooper honked the horn three times, and Blaine huffed while Kurt laughed. Blaine kissed Kurt’s cheek, and then they went to their separate cars as well. They’d stop in a couple of hours, take a break, swap drivers. Tonight, they were staying in a motel in Pennsylvania – two rooms – and tomorrow they were reaching New York.

Blaine took the opportunity of Cooper pulling away from the curb to gain control of the music, and Cooper immediately began to complain. They were squabbling over music tastes and what constituted an artist long after they’d left Lima behind them.

* * *

_i’m on top of the world_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it - my entry to this year's Blaine Big Bang! Once again, you can find Tallie's art post [here](http://loveheartlover.tumblr.com/post/102779579551/kurt-hummel-is-combat-boots-and-judy-garland), and I cannot stress enough that you should go and reblog or like or tell her how great she is.
> 
> I really hope you've enjoyed this fic. Within the next couple of weeks, there's some background stuff I hope I'll be posting here and [on Tumblr](http://sezzadarling.tumblr.com/tagged/fic:-wise) that didn't make it into the fic so keep an eye on that if you're interested. &heart

**Author's Note:**

> You can also like/reblog the post on my Tumblr [here. Thank you so much for reading. ♥](http://sezzadarling.tumblr.com/post/102778845928/title-wise-author-thestairwell-sezzadarling)


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